My Country Still
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. America, France, and Japan have been transported back in time. But while trying to get home, they find themselves witnessing a certain bitter ally's history. Maybe this will teach them why the sky always seems to mourn over dear London, England... DISCONTINUED
1. Irony is America's Enemy

**Crystal's Notes: **(ahem) So. History has never been as much fun until this year, when I am blessed enough to have gotten the BEST US HISTORY TEACHER EVER and Hetalia. xD Like dude. If this goes over well enough, by the way, I may just make two more for France and America. 83 And any other countries people request. If they like it enough. So guess what that means? (*cough-cough-YOUMUSTREVIEW-cough-cough*) But besides that, try and enjoy my humor? xD Lol-here goes! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"…I hate you."

America grinned at the glaring Japan as innocently as possible. He knew it was quite unlike the normally friendly, peaceful, and patient Asian country to be so miffed at him—but considering what has just happened (to be more accurate, what _he_ had caused to happen, no matter how inadvertently), perhaps there was basis for that strong feeling of resentment he was receiving.

"You don't mean thaaaaat…"

"_Je ne sais pas, L'Amerique._ You _might_ 'ave just ruined his latest invention."

America pouted. "I totally did not! Actually, you should be _grateful_; at least we know it works, now!"

To prove his point, he gestured to the rather wild landscape around them. Mangled, uncontrolled trees, gnarled roots, grass nearly as tall as their calves; that goes without mentioning the wild animal sounds they could hear around them, and the insects twittering with one another. The way it seemed so undisturbed was like nature had either not realized that it had unexpected guests, or it knew and was completely unsurprised, if in fact, pleased that they had finally arrived.

Japan sighed, swatting away at a mosquito that had apparently fallen in love with his cheek. "I already was aware that it was working, Alfred-san. I was not in need of another trial run."

"Well, the more the merrier, right?" Grinning cheezily, America only got a glare in return, which he shrugged off easily.

France frowned as he took time in observing their landscape. The other two still continued to bicker (which was rare in itself) behind him as he walked, but he ignored them most of the time, although it was hard not to pick up bits and pieces here and there where it concerned him.

"…you should consider yourself fortunate that our people aren't suddenly endangered because we aren't there."

"Oh…whoops..."

Japan sighed. "When we return, whenever that may be, I will make sure we return the exact moment we left, so it will be like nothing happened at all."

"Great! You're a life-saver, Kiku!"

Where England would have made a smart retort, Japan merely shook his head patiently. "I shouldn't be having to hear that, but consider it nothing."

France chose that moment to hum unexpectedly as he spun around on his heel, grinning proudly and slyly. "_Mon amis,_ I believe I recognize this particular neck of the woods!"

Japan looked with great relief to the older country. "Finally. _Arigatou,_ Francis-san."

"Yeah, what he said! Mind fillin' us in? Where did Kiku's machine take us?"

With a small, perhaps rueful grin, France answered with a broad gesture of his hand to their surroundings, "_Bonhommes,_ welcome to the land known in this day and age as simply 'Britain'—before it was even a country. If I am correct, I believe we are nearly 4000 years in the past."

* * *

England sneezed.

"_Yi bai sui,_ Arthur."

Looking up to China from the book he had been reading, England couldn't help but sigh. They, along with all the other countries, had been waiting now for nearly half-an-hour for France, America, and Japan to show up, but it was a taxing, and vain delay.

Scratching his nose idly, England turned back to his book as he murmured, "Someone must be talking about me...I don't even need to guess who _that_ would be..."

China frowned, tilting his head to side in thought. "Yes...speaking of him, it's strange, don't you think? Alfred and Francis have been late occasionally, but Kiku, never so."

"They must be doing something together, then, that has all three of them caught up in trouble." England sighed. Although staring at his book, he couldn't focus on the words on the page. "I wouldn't put it past them."

China smirked with a small chuckle. "Neither would I...I wonder what they're up to...?"

"Whatever it is, it better be a valid reason!" Germany had his shoulders hunched in taut tension as he stormed by. Italy, who had been tracing the lines in the wooden table with his finger, winced at his long-time comrade's anger, and looked up at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed stud of a man as he gruffly sat down in his chair.

"Were you not able to contact them, Ludwig?" China asked curiously, having a feeling he already knew the answer.

Germany sighed, glaring daggers at the wall. "Apparently, according to Kiku's escort, Alfred and Francis had visited his hotel room unexpectedly this morning." He shrugged a little, and then murmured with less anger, "The escort told me he would go check on them and would call me back to tell me when they were on their way."

England rolled his eyes. "How immature...to lose track of time like that."

"But that's Alfred and Francis for you," Italy perked up with a silly, bright grin. "At least they must be having fun, no?"

England pulled his lips into a thin line, turning back to his book. "Depends what you would define 'fun' as..."

* * *

Being 4000 years in the past was one sort of shock. Another-perhaps greater one-was the fact that _France_ had been able to figure that out.

America spluttered. "W-what? How do you _know_ this?"

But the elusive Bonnefoy only grinned slyly, winking mysteriously. "I have my ways. Anyway, I believe we should not linger here any longer, _mon ami._ Instead, let's try to find a way back to our own time, _oui_?"

"I am already working on it," Japan spoke up, having just a minute ago pulled out his Blackberry and tried using it.

America blinked at him, before weaving around him to try and peek over the shorter nation's shoulders. "Think you can still get service? Like...way out here in the past?"

"Service, no. But I have an app that will allow me to communicate with my machine no matter what era I am in."

"Dude, seriously? I didn't know Blackberries could _have_ apps!"

"Behold and believe."

France watched them with mixed interest; part of him was surprised that for once, he was actually the mature one (which, he really should start being, considering he was the oldest country present). The other part of him was simply trying to think as far back into his knowledge of England's history as he could. 4000 years ago...what happened 4000 years ago...? Did England even have _people_ in it at that time...?

His answer, as if right on cue, came in the form of a crudely-made clay jar smashing right beside his head on the tree he was leaning against.

The sound-as well as the closeness of impact-was enough to make the French man jump up, crying out in surprise (although America would _insist_ later on that he had sounded like a little girl), and dart away from where he had previously been standing.

America and Japan both looked up from the Blackberry they had been staring at, in time to catch France's bewildered look, and in time to realize what had just happened before another clay pot came shooting out of the trees, right at their feet. All three countries jumped just slightly.

Then more pots came flying.

"Kiku! W-what's going on?" America shouted as he practically danced to avoid being hit.

"Not sure! Trying to get machine to warp us back now!"

"_Dêpeche-toi!_"

A few seconds more of the chaos-and then in a flash of light, the three were gone.

It was quiet a moment. And then, a soft wind rustled through the trees shortly afterwards, as if nature was chuckling at the humorous event it had just been witness to.

* * *

"_What_...was _that_?"

Now in more of an open field (although the grass was still mighty tall), America, with his nerves still on edge, plopped down on a nearby knee-high rock, placing his hands on either side of his head as if to stop the sounds of crashing clay pots from still echoing in there.

Japan looked like he could sit down as well, but instead chose to remain standing, staring off as if in a trance.

France sighed, running a hand through his hair. "_That..._I believe, was a rather warm welcome from our friends the Beakers."

"...Beaker? Like, from the Muppets?"

_Muppets? What in the heck are the-?_ France shook his head. "_Je ne sais pas_ what _stupid_ American show you must be referring to, Alfred, but _non._"

"Beakers..." Japan thought to himself as he began to tune back into the conversation. One could almost see the hypothetical question mark forming over his head as he tilted it lightly to the side, murmuring, "I do not recall anything about a group of people called the 'Beakers'..."

"There is not much to know about them." France shrugged. "Historians speculate that they were probably the first to actually ride horses rather than hunt them. They also made clay pots, and cups, and...whatever. But they also made bronze."

"...and they were the guys who attacked us? With their _pots_?"

"Actually, just speaking from general experience with English people-I think we had arrived nearby where some may have lived. I think it was the females who attacked us."

"..._what_?"

France shrugged. "Logically, the males would have had spears, right, if they could have made bronze? So we were actually lucky. We could have been impaled if we had appeared by the wrong gender."

"Or that could have been avoided _entirely_ if all we had done was warp somewhere with _no one_ around!"

"Ah..." Japan frowned, looking at his Blackberry again. "It appears that is my fault. My machine is having some glitches."

America shot back to his feet, alarmed. "Glitches? What do you mean 'glitches'?"

"I mean _glitches-"_

_"-_he means _glitches,_ Alfred-"

"-shut up, Francis."

Japan sighed, closing his eyes briefly to summon patience (Western cultures...he would never get used to them), before trying again, "_Glitches_, as in I can't immediately return us to our original time. I can warp us forward little by little, with random intervals, but my machine for some reason will not allow me to simply put us back in 2011."

"...so in English...?"

"_En_ _anglais,_ that means we're going to slowly be returning home." France made sure to annunciate his words carefully so America could understand them. Then he frowned. "However, it appears we're stuck in England until then, aren't we...?"

"You mean we're _still _in Britain?" America turned a full-circle to look around himself and take in their landscape. While it still looked unfamiliar, now it at least was beginning to have that nostalgic feeling to it, as if he _had_ been there before...but of course, not in that time.

Japan nodded, still looking at his Blackberry. "It appears that now, instead of 4000 years prior, we are 3000 years into the past."

America paled. "Those Beaker people still weren't in England by this time, right?"

France shook his head thoughtfully. "No..." (America breathed out in relief.) "...but the Celts are, though."

America took a step back in mock-surprise, and then seriously thought about it, rolling around the name in his head. "...wait, how come I feel like I've heard of them...?"

"The Celts are often found in lots of European countries' histories. Including mine." With that comment, France wriggled his eyebrows in a show, but both of the other nations with him ignored it. Shrugging it off, France then added, "Plus there's _Celtic Woman_, but-"

"-that's it! That's who I was thinking of_!_" America grinned to himself, nodding with approval at his mental recollection of the vocal group.

France sighed-again, disbelieving in the fact that _he_ was having to be the mature one-and about to make a comment on it, too, until a small gasp pulled all three of the nations out of their thoughts.

All conversations having crashed to a halt, the three froze. And at first, when they stood still, holding their breaths, it was like nothing had happened (perhaps they had just imagined the sound; ha ha, silly them), but still. There was a strange presence, now, that they were painfully aware of and couldn't deny. It was a resonating sensation, something deep in the sternum-the familiar feeling of another one of Them.

And they each had a sinking feeling as to who it might be.

Slowly, bracingly, they turned around, and found their assumptions had been correct. Behind them, gazing up curiously at them (yet very characteristically distrusting), was a pair of bright, young green eyes. Above the set protruded a very heavy bunch of dark eyebrows, as well as messy, uncontrollable sandy blonde bangs...which could all only resemble one person.

"...this...is what you would call irony..._non_?" France spoke quietly with a small smirk sent America's way.

And although the American didn't, indeed, see the Frenchman's face, he heard the tone anyway, and couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end in response.

Yes. It was very...ahem, ironic.

America swallowed and at that moment decided that he very much did not like role-reversals.


	2. The First Friends of England

**Crystal's Notes:** Omgsh! ;.; The Hetalia fanfic community is so friendly! I totally love you guys and all seven of your warm, fuzzy reviews you blessed me with! (hugs and kisses to you all) I hope you all like the second chapter! Now that we have little England with us, things will get interesting, no? And if any of you wanted me to write the French translations in (I happen to be in French 3, but even then, I make mistakes. xD; So those who are fluent, don't be afraid to critique me!) just let me know. 8D But I assume the ones I sneak in there are pretty well-known, or at least, easy to guess what they mean.

We also meet the Celts! Hoorah! And have a whole bunch of information stuffed in about them! There's more to come, though. xD The Celts are so interesting; they were around in France, too, so I'm humoring myself with ideas on if the ones in Britain should recognize him…hmmmm…

Anyway, my musings aside, do enjoy your stay with the Celts!

* * *

It was silent for a long, long moment. After all, no one was quite sure what to do; before them stood the little monster, England himself. It just seemed so..._bizarre_. Especially to America, who had only ever seen England as well...England. Tall, strong, and mighty (when he wasn't being snobbish).

There was only one other time he could recall the country looking quite as vulnerable as it did then.

At that minute, something shifted inside the boy's bright green eyes, as if he had just remembered something that he was supposed to be doing instead of stalling and staring at strangers. Taking a step back, he looked behind him, then around him. With one final, slow glance to America-sky blue meeting emerald green-England suddenly and surprisingly took off, darting away into the tall grass lithely.

America wasn't quite sure what propelled him to give chase. But before he was even completely aware of his limbs, he found he was running. Making a mad dash to go after him-the little country he couldn't even believe would someday grow into his older brother.

"_Alfred-san! No!_"

But America ignored Japan's cries, pumping his legs faster. No-he didn't want to lose this England, for some reason. He wanted to see the boy again. He wasn't even completely sure there was a rational reason as to why.

And when America finally caught up with him, he took care not to grab England's arm too tightly. Instead, he merely wrapped his hand around the thin limb gently, and tugged the little island nation his way as he knelt before him, trying to get a better look at him.

Of course, he was not met without resistance.

Shouting in some unknown language to the American, England shoved his other small hand into the adult's face, messing up his glasses, and providing the poor man a struggle to be kept captured. But using his other hand, America grabbed England's other forearm, and then simply held England there before him, still staring at him intently.

Realizing his arms (at that age, probably the only way he knew to defend himself) were pinned to his sides so effectively, England stared up with wide green eyes at his captor. Perhaps scared, even. Which was quite an odd sight to see in the island nation...

Again, silence reigned. America tried to regain his breath as he stared, boring his eyes into the younger one's-but after a while, a small, approving smirk slid onto his features.

"Huh," he murmured, amused. "So it really_ is _you."

At hearing the adult speak, England frowned, and began trying to kick and free himself with short, jerky motions. Again, he shouted in that unknown language, perhaps trying to be menacing and threatening, but seeing as how he was practically a three-year-old spewing out jibberish, the only effect he had on the American was 'overwhelmingly cute.'

It was this scene that France and Japan stumbled upon when they finally caught up with the two.

Noticing that his two allies were now behind him, America turned and grinned at them, England still in his hands. "Hey! Any idea what crazy language he's speaking?"

France took to glaring at him for some odd reason, which left Japan, with one hesitant glance to the 'country of love,' to sigh, shrug, and try to give an answer. "My guess is whatever language the Celts speak."

"But shouldn't England, y'know…be speakin' _English_?"

"The English _you_ know wasn't around until the 11th century," France spoke darkly, still glaring daggers at the American, who was just beginning to feel uncomfortable with the anger France was radiating. "Even then, Anglo-Saxon, which is probably the predecessor—"

"—wow, big word! Good job, Francis!-"

"—_tais-toi._ As I was just so kindly_ informing_ you, Anglo-Saxon is probably the predecessor of the English language, and even then, _that_ came around in the 7th century."

America frowned, and turned back to England, who had stopped struggling so much upon seeing that none of them intended to hurt him. Thinking a moment as he stared at his young older brother (what an oxymoron), the tall nation finally asked, "Wait, how far back are we again?"

"3000 years. 1000 B.C., relatively. English won't be around for a long time," Japan answered.

"…darn."

That comment alone seemed to be what set France off. The blonde-haired country stomped his foot angrily, shouting, "What, were you hoping to _talk_ to him? Alfred, you are a much bigger idiot than anyone gives you credit for!"

America frowned, turning back to the older country (and at a small whining noise by England, hesitantly set the young boy down and let him go; to America's glee, however, he didn't run away this time), and replying, "Hey, now. My guys _were_ the first to walk on the moon."

"That is irrelevant!" France clenched his fists. "You realize this is not simply a hologram, or something like that? This is actual _history_. You could change _everything_ should you talk to him!"

Oh. That's right. Technically, by this time, natives were still crossing the Bearing Strait to get to his continent. America wasn't even around—that one Amerigo dude hadn't even discovered it yet. Yet here he was, kneeling beside the child who would one day grow into "Big Brother Britain." Which brought up another fact of worry—what if this England would remember him? And then would recognize him later—and wow, _that_ would screw a lot of things up.

…so that's why they were so angry when he chased after England…

Looking to the small boy now, who had his hands nervously gripping the folds of his strange, wool clothing, America murmured a quiet, "Oops…"

After all, he had already made himself known to England. At least some (although minimal) damage had already been done.

"'Oops' is most certainly right!" France huffed. Still, when he looked to the shaggy-haired toddler, his expression softened for a brief moment, before he began to complain. "Still, I don't know why he's taken a liking to you. He should be remembering _me_. We've been rivals since the beginning of time, practically."

"Dude, you're old, now. And you've got the little stubs of a growing beard."

France glared. "For your information, ladies consider that an attractive feature. Maybe _you_ should begin to grow one; it would at least show maturity."

"Hmm…let me think…facial hair…" America tilted his head to the side in mock-thought, before shaking his head. "Nah. Too 80's."

At seeing France's even more provoked expression, England let out a fit of giggles.

_Giggles._

To which, all three countries softened. _Giggles_. For goodness' sake, how long had it been since they'd heard _that_ from the normally-irritable country, who practically and literally _defied_ the statement 'no man is an island?'

With a small smirk, America reached over, fondly ruffling his young friend's already-mussed hair. "I wish you were this way even today, Arthur…"

Pushing away America's large hand as best he could, England didn't seem to understand what the larger blonde had said, merely looking up at him with a small, but not-too-angry glare. There was a spark in his green eyes, however—an amiable nature that made America have a surprising ache deep inside. After all, it had been a long time since that kind of gaze had been directed at him.

With a sudden smile, England reached out and grabbed America's hand, beginning to tug on it invitingly. America, in return, laughed good-naturedly, but wasn't necessarily sure it was a good idea to go anywhere. He had messed enough things up already.

Turning to France and Japan, he cast an uncertain grin. "Guess he wants to show me something."

"_Mais non!_ Tell him you can't. We need to get hom_e_!"

Seeing as how France was entirely against it, America turned to Japan hopefully, ignoring England's whines when the boy found the older one wasn't moving anywhere. "Please, Kiku…?"

Japan had already had his Blackberry out, but upon examining America's eyes, he gave the smallest of grins, and pocketed it. "_Hai_. Let us see what Arthur-san wants to show us so badly."

France couldn't believe it. "_Non! _You are both _imbeciles!_ We're going to mess everything up!"

"Aww…c'mon, Francis. What's the big deal? It's 1000 B.C. No one remembers this age. And besides, what's there to show us besides Stonehenge, anyway?"

"Stonehenge isn't even around yet!"

"Maybe there's Beaker-pots?"

"…_pourquoi_ do I even _try_?"

* * *

"…so you're saying you think they're in the past?"

England repeated his question one more time for clarification from the escort as he, Germany, Italy, China, and Russia were examining Japan's room for themselves, trying to get to the bottom of the mysterious disappearance of their fellow countries. Luckily enough, it seemed as though nothing had happened to their respective nations while the three were gone—so nothing too serious could have happened to them yet.

At least, that was their hope.

But as the escort nodded quickly to the Englishman, he couldn't help but sigh, and pinch the bridge of his nose as a sudden headache claimed him. This was the second one in the last ten minutes; not that it was cause for alarm, but he was keeping track to stay on guard in case it _was_ something to be worried about.

China let his fingers brush over Japan's fancy, yet small contraption set up in the middle of the floor as he walked around it. He frowned a little, pausing for a moment, before bringing his fingertips up to his face as he examined them.

"…I have a feeling they _have_ gone. Although to where, I am unsure," the oldest country consented.

Germany seemed very skeptical, crossing his arms over his chest with a hard expression on his face. "Do you think they really could have time travelled to the _past_?"

"It is possible." China's answer was one they had all been expecting, but also dreading.

"Then how do we get them back…?" Italy frowned with worry, standing unhelpfully to the side (although that wasn't anything new). He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot.

England shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "If anyone is as good with technology as Japan, go ahead and give tinkering with it a shot."

Germany frowned, knowing that most likely, it was between him and Russia as to who had the better hand in technology in the room. But even then, neither of them had successfully made a _time machine…_ So this was out of their league, right? The blonde haired man's frowned deepened. "I don't approve of simply messing with it blindly. If one of us were to break it, then they could never come back."

Italy hunched over in depression at the thought. A life without Japan…that was…rather sad…

"But we _must_ try _something,_" England insisted. "Someone should have a go at it."

Russia stepped forward, a calm, easy smile on his face. His amethyst eyes seemed to light up at the idea of a little danger—especially at the expense of three other countries. "I will try," he said, not really waiting for anyone to give him the 'okay,' and kneeling down right away to begin his work.

"Just be careful, Ivan," China warned. Nervously, he hovered behind the tall, silver-haired country.

England nodded in agreement—and as a new headache formed, wished that the whole process would hurry up. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could return to his room…

* * *

The one thing America was hoping not to be shown was the one thing little England wanted to show him most, apparently. His people.

The only reassuring thought? At least it wasn't the Beakers!

And in fact, the Celts were rather friendly. Once, of course, they realized that the strangely-dressed and pale-skinned countries were not going to hurt them. It appeared to America, Japan, and France that the people were actually quite family-based. Several little dark-skinned children with straight black hair darted about on the hill-top, playing with each other, pretending they were having a war (which, to the three countries' shock, they did naked and with hastily-drawn markings on their bodies; Japan quickly checked his Blackberry at that, and indeed, their suspicions were confirmed; that was what their parents did in war, apparently).

It didn't matter they couldn't speak the same language. The Celts, for some reason, were more than happy to show off their lifestyle to the three newcomers. When the children came and tugged on little England's sleeve, with requests to come play with them, the boy wasted no time in abandoning his new friends to play with his old ones.

This allowed the parents of the children time to show America, Japan and France their farm fields (to which, they tried as best as possible to remain entirely impressed about; after all, who knew? If they dared to seem disinterested, the Celts might suddenly change their mind and decide they would be good people to rage war against. And none of them, quite frankly, wanted to see the strangers naked…well, maybe except for France.)

Of course, it was awkward what with the language barrier and all. America was nearly sweating and getting a headache from the amount of thought he was putting into his facial expression and reaction to whatever a Celtic woman was babbling to him about, but to his relief, he was soon saved. He felt a small tug on his hand.

Looking down, he found England there, grinning up at him with a challenge sparkling in his green eyes. The boy gave another hard tug, and it was then America noticed that the blonde's friends were behind him, sizing America up and down, perhaps debating if he were too old to play their games and would simply decline the offer England was so eager for him to take up…but hey! With an indignant huff, America puffed out his chest. He _is_ the world's youngest superpower, after all.

But his only hope was that they wouldn't expect him to strip and play 'war' with them…

Turning to Japan and France (who both, with wide-eyes, shook their heads quickly, with that look of, 'Don't you _dare_ get us involved!'), America waited for a moment. But seeing as how they were not giving him any advice, he quickly shrugged and turned to England with a grin.

The young island nation seemed to understand well enough, and broke out into the widest smile America had ever seen cross his face.

Then, before he could protest, he was pulled away—and not just by England's hands this time, but by several of his friends' too, who had been watching in anticipation for the adult's answer. And now that he had given them his consent, well…

…it was going to be an exhausting afternoon.


	3. When Russia Says Oops

**Crystal's Notes:** Okay...like, what? Error 2? What's with that? ;.; I'm so sorry this is so delayed...I've had this chapter written for several days, now, but unfortunately decided to have some problems and hate me. Grr. But luckily! Someone figured out a solution to the problem. :D Should any of you other great writers out there be experiencing the same problem-message me, and I'll reply right away on what I did to get this chapter up. xD It's quite simple, really.

In other matters, this one's a bit longer than the previous two chapters. Guess why that is? I FINALLY GOT THE BOOK I'VE BEEN EYING AT BORDER'S SINCE I STARTED THIS STORY. GAH. YAY FOR BABYSITTING MONEY FINALLY BEING SPENT.

...yeah. I, an American, literally spent a portion of my babysitting profit on an 800+ pages book on the history of Britain/England, really. But I'm not the only one who would do that, right? I mean-c'mon, I know I'm a dork, but you guys are dorks for reading this, too, y'know...but of course I love you all, so I don't mean that in a bad way. (hug hug) 8D

Anyway! My French. Ack. I can't even be sure I said some of the stuff I did right...no one's asked for translations, however, so I'm going to assume you all are smart cookies and can understand what our dear Francis is saying. 8D

As for some of the historical events in here-yes. I made a typo. Once I started reading my beloved new book on the history of England, I discovered that Stonehenge has actually...uh...been around for _quite_ some time. So I put the blame for my mistake on Francis. Sorry, bud. But in other news-the languages the Celts speak! Apparently, way back when, there used to be not one, but _two_ languages the Celts spoke-**Goidel **(from where Gaelic comes from) and **Brythonic** (where Welsh, Cornish and Breton come from). Isn't history fascinating? England is so multilingual without knowing it!

Also, I got some other details wrong about the Celts, apparently, because my previous source just didn't have enough info...(darn you, historyofEngland-dot-net!), but thanks to my new book (I really should stop bragging about it now) I can clear some stuff up, I think.

SO ANYWAY I'm done talking. Really. I am. ENJOY!

* * *

America flopped down onto the grass, sweaty, exhausted and disheveled. His chest heaved with each breath, and he found it was easier to regain the loss of oxygen with his eyes closed rather than with them open. Tiredly, he tugged off his glasses, holding them to the side with one hand as he simply tried to relax.

He heard various little _thuds_ all around him, and cracked open one sky blue eye with a grin to see that the rest of the children he had just been playing with had decided to mimic him and lay down for a moment.

As they each panted tiredly, they stared up into the starlit sky. And for once...Alfred allowed himself to be speechless. He laid there, in awe, simply enjoying the spectacle before him.

_So many stars...!_

Sitting up suddenly, America called out to France and Japan, the former of which was having an apparently uncomfortable time with some of the Celts, who seemed ready to accuse him of something or another. As such, the older nation seemed very relieved when he heard the American call out, "Hey! Francis! Kiku! You gotta come see this!"

Japan raised an eyebrow, and America (why was he suddenly sad as he saw this?) caught a flash of the black-haired man's Blackberry before the Asian stuffed it in his pocket again. "What is it, Alfred-san?"

"Just come see! I bet you won't see anything like this back home-or ever again, for that matter!" And indeed, as America grinned to his companions, he had to think back to his own childhood. He, unlike many others, was lucky. This sight in the heavens above him was something he had seen countless times-not so much anymore, of course, but way back when, every night it was the same. Beautiful, beautiful, numerous stars...so many, he constantly wanted to sleep outside-which, England never let him do when he was a colony. But after his freedom was gained, there had been no stopping him. The Wild West days had been _unforgettable_.

But Japan...had he ever been fortunate to see something like this? America watched carefully as his friend trudged over, and took one glance at the huddle of people lying on their backs, staring upward, and slowly joined them (albeit a little awkwardly).

The look on the pale, short man's face said enough. No...he hadn't been quite as gifted as America had been (or England, as Alfred was beginning to see). But...

"Isn't it great?" America murmured to Japan.

The other nation only nodded, dumbstruck. And after a small pause, a content grin washed over him, and he closed his eyes. With a grin, America realized that only left France. And just as he was about to look up and call again for the long blonde-haired country, the land of the free found himself startled as he felt a small hand crawl atop his own.

Looking down at his side, he shouldn't have been surprised to see little England there, but for some reason, he was. After all, it wasn't every day that you watched the smaller version of your former mentor slowly curl his little body around where your hand sat perched on the ground, and began poking it absent-mindedly. Perhaps tiredly, too.

America watched England for a moment, quite unsure what to do or say. He only watched. It was odd, too, that strange feeling that slide up his chest as England tilted his green eyes his way, grinned, yawned and then buried his head in the grass.

Alfred continued staring at littler one, not quite sure what was possessing him, but finding he didn't necessarily mind when he finally lifted up his hand and placed it fondly atop the island nation's unkept sandy blonde hair. He felt a small grin forming on his face, and couldn't help but murmur, since the child wouldn't understand it, anyway, "Geez...I should totally use this for blackmail or something..."

But somehow, he knew he never would even if he could.

Besides, his own reminiscing was broken by France suddenly snatching his wrist away from England's head, and lifting him to his feet with surprising force. Instantly, the blue-eyed American glared at him, and started, "Hey-what-?"

"Something's up," the other blonde spoke in his heavy accent, quietly. Seriously.

Uh...

America blinked, finding all previous anger held towards the Frenchman to dissipate. "What do you mean...?"

"Kiku's machine is acting funny. Not quite sure why, but he thinks we should try and time-hop again as soon as possible, and as quickly as possible."

As if to glean a confirmation, America allowed his eyes to drift from France to Japan, who he indeed saw sitting up now from the grass, gazing at his Blackberry. It's LCD screen lit up his face, revealing it to be troubled-and somehow, America wasn't surprised to find that many of the other Celtic children had taken to staring at it in wonder, amazement.

With a small frown, America then shrugged. "Sure. Let's go, I guess, then." He cast a side-long glance at the England who was still by his feet, now sitting up and peering up at him curiously.

Shaking his head dismissively, Alfred brushed past France gently in order to make his way to Japan. Throwing a smile upon reaching his ally's side. "Yo, Kiku! What's up-?"

"Someone's messing with my machine."

It was clear the Asian was very irate about this-but it was the implications of what that meant that bothered Alfred more. America frowned, stopping short. "What do you mean?"

Kiku didn't respond at first, a dark look flashing over his face as he furiously fiddled with his Blackberry. "Someone in the present must be doing something they _shouldn't_," he muttered sourly. "I don't know if they'll accidentally send us somewhere else in time, or..."

"Can't you make them stop?" Alfred tried to walk around his friend and to peer at his Blackberry like he had done earlier that day, but it was hard to see and make sense of what was going on. After all, rapid lines of what seemed to be random numbers and letters continued to be furiously typed onto the tiny screen, and then be pushed up by the next stanza, and the next, and the next...like a foreign language battle.

Of a sudden, Japan swore-something rare for the island country-and then turned to France and America who were right behind him, waiting in anticipation. "Do not be alarmed. All is all right. It just seems we're-"

But whatever he had to say next was swept away as the world burst, twisted and turned in confusing swirls of color and black and white.

So it appeared they were time-travelling.

Again.

* * *

"...oopsy~."

"What? W-what did you _do_?"

England, his headache increasing-he could've sworn he was seeing strange memories in his head he didn't remember having-was already feeling his temper shorten more than it normally did. Fisting his hand, he slammed it against the top of the nearest armchair, leaning on it more than he showed for support. For some reason, he felt unusually unstable. "Don't you simply say 'oops,' you git! What happened?"

Ivan turned around innocently enough, but there was no remorse in his purple eyes. "I'm not sure..." he murmured thoughtfully, small, thin smile still on his pale, large face.

It made England want to punch it off, but seeing as how things were already tense between them (not as much as they used to be, but still), he refrained. Besides...not that he would ever, ever say this, but he didn't quite feel up to starting a fight at the moment.

Germany, on the other hand, seemed to have no such hesitation. He stomped forward, reached out to grab part of the Russian's signature long coat, then seemed to think better of it and simply left his fisted hand at his side, deciding instead to shout with intimidation, "I thought you knew what you were doing! Otherwise, I would not have let you simply _play_ with it!"

Russia shrugged, standing up and dusting himself off. The smile still didn't leave; not that it ever did. "I did not say I knew. I said I would try; Arthur himself said that it was necessary."

England frowned heavily, glowering at the much taller nation. "Necessary did not mean being insufferably _unbeneficial._"

"Sorry." And although the words were said, there was something in the miniscule shrug of his broad shoulders and ever-present, slim grin on his face that betrayed his supposed conviction. It made the Briton scowl even further.

"We can't just stand here! We have to fix it! Francis, Kiku, and Alfred could be in danger!" China stressed this, walking over to the machine, and very hesitantly poking at it.

Of a sudden, it made another strange sound like it did before. For a moment, it sputtered, and then whirred. Two panels slide aside, revealing a screen that instantly lit up with fuzzy static. All the countries in the room stared at it for a moment, tense, hesitating.

"Yao! What did you _do_-?"

"-Arth...! Is...you?"

Silence. England pushed himself out of the stupor he found himself (as well as everyone else in), and stumbled forward, closer to the machine. "Alfred! Are you there?"

"...ah! But...not believe...! We're...sometime...wait...sec...Ki...?" There was a lengthy pause in between. England considered calling out again, but before he did so, Alfred was already back. "Okay, we're...B.C., and...funny that you..."

Shocked silence again. This time, it was China who called out in shock, "_B.C.?_! That long ago?"

"Huh? ...Yao? Who...there?"

"You're breaking up, Alfred," England tried to speak as clearly as possible, figuring that he must be coming in and out as much as the American was.

"Who's bread...king...?"

Sure enough.

Arthur sighed, running a hand over his tired face. "Never mind. Where are you?"

"Uh...if...asked...what I...asked...uh...I think...still...land..."

Calling on patience that he did not have, England leaned forward, close to the machine. "I'm sorry. Didn't catch that. Repeat-where are you?"

"_Eng..._you know...you're...where...you're coun..._Britain._"

Among the rest of the incoherent crackle, that word alone stood out. It made England suddenly very...speechless-certainly not vulnerable, no-and flustered-but at the same time, he suddenly felt very feverish (and it wasn't just because everyone else in the room now had their eyes on him). Furrowing his eyebrows to force himself to ignore it all, he cleared his throat. "Well, that's...uncalled for. What are you doing poking around in my history, America?"

"Wasn't...idea! Kiku's...he's...made it! Besides..."

Then, unexpectedly, they could hear France's voice-very faint, but still there all the same. "Ah non! Turn...off! It's...!"

"Crap...! Eng...gotta...sorr...bye!"

Before any of them had a say, the screen was suddenly put out of its misery, turning black and silent. England was sweating, although he barely noticed it. He was still staring at the screen endlessly, the words France and America had uttered before they lost connection still echoing in his head. And so it seemed for everyone else in the room, too, who were _still_ staring at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted his Britannia Angel's wings out of the blue and said, 'Hey, I'll take any wishes right now! Free granting and all!' with a ridiculous smile to boot.

"Hmmm..." Russia finally broke the silence, lifting up a gloved hand thoughtfully to his chin. "To travel through history so far..."

"_ No._" China glared at Ivan, although smaller, certainly not intimidated. "It will not be used for any more time travelling. Not until we figured out how to get them back."

There seemed to be a miniscule drop in temperature in the room, although it didn't seem as if the Russian's expression had changed at all. His hand fell back to his side, and just as he was about to reply, Germany did so, instead, clearing his throat. "Not to sound like Kiku, but...I agree with Yao. It is unsafe to put anyone else in that time stream."

And even though Germany had given a logical defense, everyone knew it was just a secondary reason-that the real danger, instead, was letting Russia touch the freakin' machine anymore in case he messed something up again.

The much taller man glowered at the others, although still with a faint smile on his face (which somehow, served to make him even more intimidating). But it was all broken as Italy cleared his throat in a subtle hint to change the subject; it appeared to be one of his brighter moments, when he finally and correctly read the atmosphere.

"So...!" He then began happily, clasping his hands in front of himself and rolling back and forth on his feet childishly. "Uh...who's hungry?"

Or...maybe they were just getting their hopes up.

* * *

America tried his hardest not to simply bust out laughing, but that was quite hard-especially seeing as how things were _not_ going well for the Frenchie in front of him and Japan. Quite literally, because in this new area of Britain, they had found Stonehenge (which the all-knowing Bonnefoy had proclaimed not to exist yet; this had caused a humorous look-up for information conducted by Japan, in which they found out that Stonehenge actually _was_ around much before this; in fact, it was possibly constructed the last time they had been there). But they had also, more important than that, once again, found young England.

The funny thing about this?

This England must have met the younger France by this time period, because he continually was glaring at the much-older man in extreme dislike and distrust. It even had climaxed to the point where he finally kicked Francis in the shin, and started accusing him in his old Celtic language of his-which, all three other countries couldn't deny, was beginning to sound more like a legitimate_ language_ and not just guttural, mumbled sounds as it did before.

Which brings us to Alfred's current difficulty of trying not to laugh. Japan, meanwhile, just seemed to sweatdrop and not want to take any part in the oh-so-warm welcome the small island country was giving them.

Francis finally dropped the leg he had been cradling, and towered over the small England (who now looked to be four-not much of a difference, but still), muttering dangerously, "_Regarde-toi-même, Angleterre._ You don't seem to realize how much of a disadvantage you are at right now..."

But when had size ever really mattered to the normally-shorter-country anyway?

It was apparent that even at that young age, the Britain they knew was coming out; beginning to surface. That meant that the Celts, if they were still around, must have been making quite a life for themselves via trading, and even perhaps creating a government of sorts for themselves. A society, if you will.

But this England was still unsophisticated. That much was certain, as he scowled at Francis relentlessly.

"_Qu'est-ce que tu veux?_" France finally asked, huffing. "For me to fall over and die? Ha! You can wish that for milleniums to come, _mon ami,_ but it still won't happen!"

Angered, although he probably still didn't understand what the Frenchman was saying, England lifted his foot back, preparing another deadly kick-from which, Francis quickly hopped away, deciding to hide (rather pathetically) behind "_grand, fort Alfred_" for protection.

Japan sighed, looking at the blonde-haired man with what could be described as painful pity. "Francis-san...he's three-or four-times smaller than you..."

"_Tais-toi_! He has an awful leg!_ La jambe en acier_! It is no wonder his national sport is football..."

America blinked. "No it's not; it's soccer-"

"-_idiot..._"

Clearly, France was not having a good day.

Speaking of which, America was suddenly reminded that in the last time period they had been at, it was nighttime. He could feel a yawn begin to tug at the corners of his mouth at the thought-and suddenly felt very exhausted, his eyelids heavier than he last remembered them being.

Stretching idly, he murmured, "I know it's like...bright outside here, but dude...are either of you guys tired, too? Or is it just me?"

Japan shook his head, digging out his Blackberry again. Although it was very miniscule, Alfred could see the small lines of fatigue across his friend's normally-smooth face as the Asian man muttered, "It is not 'just you.' I am feeling run-down as well."

"Good." America grinned after another yawn, and then peered down at England, who stood in front of him now, studying him intently with those green eyes which seemed to suggest that the little boy had a faint remembrance of him (insert inner-Alfred-happy-dance here), but couldn't exactly decide if that had been a dream, or real. England's head tilted to the side softly, busied with that thought.

America couldn't stop himself from wanting to help him out.

Squatting before the island not-yet-a-nation, he grinned amiably like he had the first day they had met like this in a soft green, open, overgrown meadow (with Stonehenge in the background this time, however). But, wait; he had to remind himself that that had only been this morning. Oh how confusing time-travel was...

"Hey, Arthur," he greeted after a quick, dismissive shake of his head to get rid of this own thoughts. "Sorry. I don't focus well when I'm tired...you know how that is, right?"

England gave him no answer, head still tilted curiously at him, the ever-present frown upon his small face.

America could hear France hiss behind him, "_Imbecile._ He still doesn't understand you, you know."

But the taller, wheat-haired country decided to pointedly ignore that statement, and remained smiling at England, patiently. And at last, after a moment, the little boy finally appeared to remember him, his face erupting into a bright show of smile and joy.

But what Alfred didn't expect was for suddenly his arms to be full of a little bundle of a sandy-blonde-haired island nation once he did.

The hug, however, was over just as quickly as England had launched himself at him.

Now full of energy, Arthur tugged at America's shirt sleeve, just like before. Just as excited-perhaps just as fervently wanting to show off to America how well his people were beginning to grow, and how advanced they were becoming. But America, apparently, couldn't get up just quick enough for the little guy. After all, he was still a little amazed at the show of affection he had been given, and perhaps even more amazed at how easily the young England had given it-for that _never_ happened anymore, with the England _he_ knew.

Said smaller version of the country was also beginning to get a little frustrated. He tilted his head back up and began whining to America in that other language of his that still seemed so foreign and strange, with more consonants than actual vowels.

America finally, with a small laugh, gave England a little bit of victory, standing up (although still hunched over because the boy would not let go of his sleeve). He didn't need to see France or Japan to know that they were probably glaring at him exasperatedly, silently begging him not to give into the young Arthur's wishes this time. Sooner they got home, the sooner they could sleep, after all...

But every ounce of fatigue was stripped away the moment they heard another voice-female-young-but somehow, very familiar. It set each of them on their toes in surprise.

It appeared she was speaking in a different language than England, but the boy, who had also heard her and turned around and momentarily forgot Alfred, did not seem daunted. Although he clearly did not yet know her language, he tried talking to her in a broken attempt of mimicking the stranger's own words, to which there was laughter, and then another response-

-and then the girl finally came into view, running out from behind a nearby forest.

The familiar sight of her short, shaggy chin-length blonde hair pulled back with a red headband and her bright, aggressive green eyes made all three countries' jaws hit the grassy floor beneath them.

It was only America who finally found it in himself to utter her name.

"_B-Belgium_?"


	4. The Year is 43 AD

**Crystal's Notes:** Omgsh more than 20 reviews! 8D (Throws confetti) I know that sounds awfully pathetic compared to some of you great Hetalia writers out there-but I haven't had this many reviews in a long time. ;.; It's so very...nice. (heart heart)

Also, I think I'm gonna try updating once a week. 83 After next week, of course (because it is my Spring Break xD so there won't be any updates during that period of time). But yeah. Does every Monday sound good?

Also, some history to explain, I suppose. 8D The **Catuvellauni**—very interesting people! They were early Belgae people named after their leader, Catuvellaunis, who united a bunch of these Celtic people together in Britain. 8D He was a swell guy, actually. Unfortunately, though, after he died, the different people groups of Britannia never really united like that ever again. xD Sad day. Because if they did, they well could have stopped (SPOILERSPOILER). But. They liked fighting with each other too much. Sound like a certain Englishman we know? xD (So now we know where he gets it from!)

Btw, I'm pondering another Hetalia idea. 83 There's not much to it yet. It may not even come to fruition yet. Buuuuuut we never know. 8D So hang tight, please? 8D

I LOVE YOU REVIEWERS SO MUCH. I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU. PLEASE ENJOY THIS NEXT CHAPTER; IT'S DEDICATED TO ALL 22 (or less xD some of you are DOLLS and have reviewed more than once) OF YEW!

* * *

_This England never did, nor never shall,_  
_Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,_  
_But when it first did help to wound itself._  
_Now these her princes are come home again,_  
_Come the three corners of the world in arms,_  
_And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,_  
_If England to itself do rest but true._

_-_William Shakespeare

* * *

Belgium froze, and then frowned at seeing the newcomers. She eyed their clothes with distrust, slowly taking in every detail of the three strangers as best she could before turning to England with a surprisingly suspicious glance. She murmured quietly to him, and made the small sandy-haired blonde suddenly (and shockingly) go red in embarrassment, before shouting in defiance back at her.

In the midst of this, Japan made a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat, drawing America and France's attention to him and away from the two bickering children. When glanced at with curiosity, he then cleared his throat and held out his Blackberry, which he had been toying with yet again.

"Updated another app," he muttered. "This one used to be able to translate easy languages it took in audibly—but recently, the creators, who are some of my people—have updated it to understand most ancient languages. By my request, of course."

"_Attend._ You can communicate with the people in our time?"

America blinked at France. "Why so surprised? We already did that with Arthur and Yao—"

"—but through the time machine, and only after _they_ contacted _us._"

Japan sighed, rubbing the space above his eyebrows as if to sooth a heated headache. "No," he clarified. "I didn't _just _talk to them. I had requested for it a long time ago. They just recently finished it."

Oh. France huffed. "_Alors_, don't get our hopes up with stupid gasping!"

Japan was ready to point out that it wasn't his fault his two friends were jumping at every drop of a pin, but was stopped at watching his Blackberry as the app started working for the first time, beginning to translate what Belgium and England were murmuring to each other about.

"_I don't know _where_ you keep picking up these weird creatures. Honestly. Your Druids are having weird effects on you."_

England's face flushed. "_They are _not_! They're good people! They've taught me a lot!"_

Belgium rolled her eyes. _"Yeah...sure. Because beyond a shadow of a doubt, mistletoes are _sacred."

"_They are!_"

Japan hummed in quiet, amused thought. The Druids...he had heard legends of them before. Interesting...he hadn't known it was during _this_ early time period that they were the religious leaders of Britannia.

Interested by Japan's apparent interest in his Blackberry, both France and America stepped closer to the shorter man, looking over his shoulder to see the small screen. On it, they could barely see the little text displaying to them the conversation the two much-smaller nations were having. Squinting, they baited their breaths and read on.

England sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. _"Well? Did you just come here to poke fun at me, Belgica? Or did Rome attack you again?"_

At the mention of the nation, Belgium (or-was it Belgica at this time period?) scrunched up her nose in strong distaste. She shook her head. "_He's been strangely quiet as of late. I don't know-it gives me a bad feeling. He just _smells_…awful...don't you think?"_

England shrugged at that. "_How would I know? I haven't met him."_

_"Let's hope it stays that way."_ There was an awkward pause for a moment as something similar to fear passed over Belgium's face, and she leaned in closer to the smaller blonde, murmuring, "_Rumor has it, however, that he's heard of you, now, little island. He calls you 'Britannia,' I think."_

England nearly gawked at the name-which was quite amusing. He looked about ready to puke. "_That's such a girly name! Ugh!"_

Belgium, despite her apparent heavy worry, cracked a small smile at that. But then, once more, her face clouded over. Whatever she had to discuss was most urgent. "_Do be careful, though, little island. You don't yet understand the power of a name-but understand me when I say that you will, now that you_ have_ been named."_

_"But I've been named before-"_

_"-by your people, yes. Fleeting names; names that pass with time as your tribes change and shift in and out of power. Names that only stick with your people. You haven't yet been _named_-at least, until now-by another Nation with a_ permanent_ name. For _you_. For the land."_

England frowned at her words. He shifted uncomfortably. _"So...so what? So am I now...'Britannia?'"_

Frowning in return, Belgium shrugged. _"Very soon, I think. We'll see. He gave me my name, as well. 'Belgica.' Even though my people call themselves 'Catuvellauni.'"_

_"How did you know when your name had been changed to Belgica?"_

At that, Belgium smiled at him with a tinge of sadness. _"Well...my name was never really 'Catuvellauni' to begin with, so it wasn't that hard for him to dub me Belgica. And once he did, and it was mapped..."_ The girl shrugged. "_It became official. When that that time comes for you, little island, you'll just _know._ Like iron branded onto a horse's flank."_

England winced at the mental image. "_That...sounds painful."_

Grinning with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, Belgium teased. _"Oh yes...it's horrifying. Sometimes I still wake up screaming at night from the memories..."_

_"Be serious."_

Laughing, Belgium patted his head again. "_Just kidding. There's nothing to it. I just..." _And again, that dark look crossed over her eyes. She paused for a moment, looking off into the distance, before her eyes subconsciously travelled to Stonehenge. "_I just...worry about you. Rome and I...well, you know how things are between us. He and his Caesar have it out for me."_

_"Don't I know it."_ The roll of the eyes and smug smirk that overtook England's features as he crossed his arms over his chest silently told countless stories of having to play 'healer' for Belgium whenever she and her people had (barely) gotten out of a particularly bad scuffle with the Roman Empire.

Belgium gave a small amused smirk at his words, before she turned to him with unusual softness. "_He would do anything to break my people and our power. I just don't want that 'anything' to entitle you, little island. You've been a good friend for many years."_

England flushed at that, and looked away, clearing his throat. _"Yeah, well...it's just trading. And all that healing stuff...y-you would have just done the same for me."_

Belgium laughed. "_I know. But that's why I appreciate it so much." _Patting his head once more, she couldn't help but add with a small smirk, _"You know, you're not so bad when you're not being so grumpy. You know that?"_

Flushing again, England swatted at her hand. "_Oh, bugger off!"_

Japan smiled at hearing Belgium's robust laughter-indeed, he had been a bit tempted to join in a bit himself-but that soon disappeared and was replaced with surprise as the app for the time machine gave a small jingle, bringing his attention back to reality.

"Oh! What was that?" America sounded excited, now gripping Japan's shoulder with anxiety, waiting as the Asian exited out of the translating program and uploaded the time machine one.

France merely blinked at the random blots of data that were popping up all over the miniature screen. "What does that all mean?"

Japan sighed. "Someone's initiated a time jump again."

"You mean someone in the current time? Or we did? Accidentally?"

"I wouldn't have been surprised if we _somehow_ did..."

"So pessimistic, Francis~."

"_Non,_ I just know your nature too well, _mon cher ami._"

Japan sighed, rubbing his forehead. Was it just lack of sleep-or could he legitimately blame his two companions for the migraine he could feel coming on...? Either way...

There was hardly any noise this time as they disappeared. And once they did, little England looked behind himself at where the three had last been, frowning quietly to himself upon noticing they were no longer there.

Belgium, noticing the same thing as her small friend, watched him for a moment before she decided to say anything. And when she did, it was careful, yet teasing. _"So it seems they've disappeared again. What do you think they are, that they don't age like that? Didn't you tell me it was over a hundred years since you'd last seen them?"_

England shrugged absent-mindedly. _"I don't know...maybe they are powerful Nations we haven't met yet."_

Belgium hummed in thought. _"Maybe...but if that's the case, why do they keep randomly popping up and watching you?"_

_"I...I don't know..."_

_Or perhaps_, little England considered to himself in the deep recesses of his mind. _Maybe they're not Nations at all but...but guardian spirits, like the ones the Druids speak of! M-maybe..._

And maybe…maybe he could see them again—and next time, finally be able to _talk_ to them.

* * *

Italy was whining. Not that that was anything new, but he, like everyone else, was beginning to tire of having little to no success with the time machine. So it was with a little surprise, but more of fatigue, when he finally pointed out, "It's whirring again…"

England huffed. He had finally sat down, if only because for a brief moment he had felt so nauseated he couldn't trust himself standing; for some reason however, he now felt a bit better. Enough to bark, "Who touched it _this_ time?" with a rather prominent frown upon his ever-scowling features, even.

"_I_ touched it!" Came a rather light, soft voice. "Don't you remember? I had told you I would..."

Everyone blinked.

After a small pause, Arthur leaned back tiredly against the couch, sighing. "Ah…sorry, Matthew…I didn't even know you were here…"

Canada frowned, having stood up from where he was kneeling beside the time machine, Kumajiro snuggled in his arms as usual. Not that being forgotten was anything new, but… "Can't you ever try a little harder? I _do_ exist, you know."

"It's not like I _try_ to forget." England frowned at his former colony, before shaking his head. His own ill will, he decided, was not deserved. "Well, anyhow, what did you do?"

Canada shrugged after a moment's pause of careful thought. "I tried to see if we could contact them again. But I might have pressed a wrong button…"

At the tense atmosphere when he left that sentence hanging, he quickly added, "B-but it's still working! I think I just sent them to a different time, that's all."

With a sigh, England rubbed his forehead. "_And_ I hope, to another country."

Italy giggled. "Can you see them?"

Frowning, the older country thought a moment. His hand hovered above his forehead, as if ready to massage it again should the need rise. Then, he hesitantly shook his head. "Yes…and no. I feel like I've just caught glimpses of them. That they were there, and then not."

"Well, that's good." Germany crossed his arms over his chest, his face one of careful calculation. "That means they aren't tempering in your history too much."

"But we forget who we're talking about," China murmured with a distant smile. "This is Alfred, Francis, and Kiku. Although they may be doing a good job of not interfering, _something_ is bound to happen sooner or later. That is why we must get them back as soon as possible."

England sighed, crossing his arms over his chest rather moodily. "Quite. I don't like having my fate resting on the hope that they do _nothing. _It's most unlike them, anyway."

China's grin became more genuine at that statement. He eyed the blonde-haired countryman with amusement as he murmured, "'The greatest victory is the battle not fought,' hm?"

At the familiar Chinese proverb, England closed his eyes tiredly. "Yes. I suppose it is."

But it wasn't like Alfred, Francis and Kiku were ever aware of that.

(Or that _he_ had ever been aware of that…)

* * *

A guttural war cry. The clash of weapons. Shouts of pain.

All three nations nearly jumped out of their skin upon seeing that they had been transported into the middle of a battle. Instinctively, America reached out for both Japan and France's shoulders, dragging them back with him so as to avoid getting in the fight and finding a safe hiding spot. Upon locating an especially large boulder, he pulled them behind it, and crouched himself down. Adrenaline still pounded throughout his system, making his hands twitch.

Francis turned to Japan, apparently having come back to himself. "What's going _on_? What time are we in?"

"I'm working on it—"

"—He's working on it, Francis!"

"_Tais-toi, l'Am__é__rique!_"

With baited breath, they each waited in silence, listening to the grueling sounds of primitive warfare. Every once in a while, their eyes would slip upwards, and they would peek over the gigantic rock in order to watch the going's-on. There was a long, tense moment of silence among them.

Then…

"…_attend_," France murmured to himself, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away from watching the battle. "…_je souviens…_I remember this…"

"What?" Alfred turned to his fellow blonde, eyes wide in shock. "Wait, were you here or something?"

Francis shook his head. "_Non, je n'ai pas __été ici_. But those warriors…" the elder one frowned carefully, bothered. "…I remember them. _Alors, _this must be after…"

America waited, expecting a continuation; but when none was given, he slowly repeated, "'After'…? After what?"

Japan's stiffened, unintentionally calling attention back to himself as the app he was waiting for finally loaded, and giving him the information he wanted. But apparently, it wasn't what he wanted to read; a dark look crossed over his normally-passive face. "I should have known…"

"Known _what_?" _Honestly, guys, am I always to be left out of the loop here?_

But America was not left hanging for long. Japan looked up at him, as if he had been waiting for him to ask what he did, and then answered very evenly, quietly.

"The year is 43 AD , Alfred. The Roman Empire, under the rule of emperor Claudius—and as we are just now witnessing—is for the first time, finally succeeding in invading Britannia."

…okay, so how was it they had the most miraculous habits of winding up in pivotal points of history? Stupid luck.

With a gulp, Alfred carefully watched his friend for any sign of deceit. But when there was none, he then hesitantly asked, "What do you mean…'finally succeeding'? Did they try before while we were time-hopping?"

France nodded, scowling. "At first. But the Britons had held them off, like I had, but unfortunately, Gaul had no choice but to submit." He closed his eyes, swearing. "These _personnes_ are lucky. It was because of our battles with the Roman Empire that eventually made him forget about Britannia. Until emperor Claudius took the throne, of course…"

As if on cue, America turned back around to watch the fighting. But he was especially intrigued now, upon discovering that he was seeing the great _Rome_ in _battle._ Against his dear old mentor's people, of course, but whatever.

Or at least, he_ had_ been able to easily 'whatever' it. Until he saw England. Then, that made something surprising stir within him. What was that…a sense of protectiveness?

"You can't be serious!" he blurted, unable to believe that after all these years, England was just the same size as they had left him. "What's he doing in that battle, anyway? He can't even hold a sword yet!"

Standing up without thinking, America was about ready to dart forth and grab the little child before he got hurt—when a spectacularly large and somewhat familiar man riding on horseback came into view.

He had curly dark brown hair, a strong build—surely appealing enough that he had millions of women fawning over him day by day—and a haut, steely dark-eyed gaze as he looked about him, bringing his stallion to a stop. He was looking for someone.

England, as if on cue, also stopped running. Wild fear and determination danced in his eyes as he looked frightfully about, but when he looked up, happening to meet eyes with the man on horseback, he instantly gasped, freezing on the spot despite the chaos all around him. It was as if time had stilled.

It was also as if neither of the two were aware of the battle going on about them; hypnotized by nearly the same feeling, America felt himself come to a stop as well, merely watching as a sort of silent conversation—or more like , a realization—passed between them that only they were aware of, and that they were only aware of. The air was tense for a moment as it came and went, like glass under frigid temperature. Then slowly, once it met its limit, cracks began to form on the surface, crawling up the sides; England took a step back, eyes wide, and the man atop the horse made not yet a move.

Then it all shattered.

England turned and ran, but it was no use. The rider had an unfair advantage.

With skilled ease, the soldier urged his horse forth and slide onto the side, half hanging on to his steed and half hanging off. He outstretched an arm, and with one swoop picked up the fleeing England, pulling himself back onto the horse's back only once he had the small nation tucked securely under his arm.

England was crying. Rather more in a frustrated fashion than a sad one; he kept wriggling in the much larger man's hold, trying to punch his chest so he could get free, but it was no use. He was captured.

The tears only came harder upon this realization.

America took one step forward in instinctive pity for his father country, watching, unbelieving as the man brought his horse to a slow, proud walk. The soldier looked at his prize once, grinned, and then shouted something to his fellow warriors with a booming, carrying voice.

Instantly, on edge, America turned to Japan, shouting, "What did he say? Quick!"

He heard the island nation curse before the response came. "I'm sorry, Alfred! I didn't get the app running quick enough to catch it!"

Swearing as well, America stomped a foot and turned back to the scene in front of him, watching as the man on the horse called all of his men's attention to himself, and exclaiming something or other proudly. He could only guess it had something to do with his new capture.

But when the man turned his horse around to go ahead and flee with his reward in hand, what America did _not_ expect was for little bawling England to somehow, miraculously, catch a glimpse of him.

It seemed so bizarre that it should have even happened, but it did. And time, appropriately, once more seemed to slow.

But it didn't last as long as it did before. England suddenly struggled with an entirely new, aggressive fervor..

Continually, he shot out an arm expectantly for the taller country, but when he saw that his nasty (but handsome) captor would still not let him go, the little one then began shouting, crying out the same phrase over and over and over again, much to America's pain, because it all sounded so…pitiful. So unbearably so-and so painfully unlike big, strong, independent England.

Here before him was a child who, so far, had defended himself only barely. And unfortunately, now, of all times, his luck had run out.

Turning to Japan, America shouted out (as if to drown out England's pleading voice; after all, what could he do but ignore it? He couldn't interfere with history…), "Kiku! What's he saying?"

Japan winced, pausing for a long time. He tried to think up of some way to relay the message he was reading to the waiting American, but none would come to him. So instead, with a sigh, he resorted to simply holding out the Blackberry, head bowed slightly in apology.

But the screen said enough.

_Why are you not saving me? Why are you not saving me? _

_Why are you not saving me?_


	5. To Know War

**Crystal's Notes:** WAH What was with the login thing yesterday? ;.; SADNESS!

But in other news...

Omgsh! ;.; I come back from vacation, and what to my wondering eyes do appear? BUT SEVERAL MORE GLORIOUS REVIEWS! YOU GUYS! BECAUSE OF YOU WE'VE BROKEN 30 IN _ONE CHAPTER_! (Squeal) Can you _believe_ it? I'm like, totally your guys' biggest fan! 30 REVIEWS! Ugh, I need to go make us a cake...

So anyway. 83 Let's see...anything that needs to be explained? Ummm...British tribes way back when, before Roman Empire took over, used to have 'kingdoms' among themselves. Which kinda explains where the elephant parade in this beginning to place at...umm...oh! Yes! How could I forget? Wales!

Yaaaay big brother Wales appears. 8D I wish he had a solid appearance in the Hetalia canon-ness. D8 Sadly he doesn't. But anyway. Technically, the Silures were actually located where the _border_ is (or was, technically) between England and Wales. But I decided to make things interesting, I was gonna have little Wales be a part of this history lesson. 8D I can...stretch history a bit. Right? Hopefully not as badly as Alfred, Francis and Kiku will, tho...heh heh. xD

Do enjoy! :) You guys are SO amazing! I mean it when I say I love you all! Have a wonderful day!

PS: Btw! I totally decided to go ahead and begin writing my second Hetalia idea. :D It's under the works right now, and doesn't even have a name yet-but I trust it'll come sooner or later. xD Just thought I'd let you know. 8D NOW you go have a good day!

* * *

_I am the voice of the past that will always be_  
_Filled with my sorrow  
And blood in my fields  
_

* * *

Even France didn't dare question America's actions as he saw the sour, upset look on his comrade's face as the younger one watched the proceedings. But that was a poor description in and of itself. America was more than just..._upset._ Anyone who had known the man for a few centuries would know that the look he had on now actually meant he was very angry; very hurt. But Alfred wasn't the type to simply go sulk. No. Alfred was the type of guy who would set himself down and watch (no matter how painful) the consequences of his actions so that the image would be forever burned in his mind, and so that also, hopefully, the choice he once made may never have to be made again.

Tearing his eyes away from the parade (apparently, the battle they had just witnessed was the one north of Medway; in order to celebrate his victory after said fight, Claudius ordered to have a procession of elephants through the British tribe's now-former 'kingdom'), Francis finally turned to Kiku, who he knew would listen. "We should go."

But apparently the Asian was not willing to listen entirely. Unsure, Japan looked to America, who acted as if he had not heard that comment. So, clearing his throat, Japan tentatively began, "Alfred-"

"-I hate this."

France sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "_Je sais_-"

"-no. No you don't." America's tone was bitter; but at least he was finally not watching little, sullen England atop one of the elephants with Roman Empire behind him, looking proud and mighty with his new conquest. "He wanted me to _help him._ He was expecting me to _save him._ _England _was_._"

"But you couldn't have, _mon ami,_" Francis murmured. "Even if we had Kiku wind up the time machine to send us back to that battle, we couldn't have done anything. It's dangerous enough that he has seen us."

America glared at the Frenchman, until Japan spoke up. "But we're fortunate. England most likely thinks of us a guardian spirits or something. Perhaps gods. He doesn't know who we are."

France scoffed. "With the way things are going? He'll know soon."

America sighed after a long, long pause, turning back to the parade. It was almost over. "I hate this...Kiku, will it send us back to our time now?"

The Asian sighed as well. "No. I can't even send us more than a decade further; but I _can _send us to a different area, if you would prefer that much."

"I would."

Japan nodded, pushing a few more buttons on his Blackberry. He waited a moment, reading the screen, before finally pocketing it. "Here we go," he murmured softly.

There was a soft hum; a flash of light. Then they were gone.

* * *

Little Britannia dashed through the trees, dry twigs scraping his feet, limbs and stray thorns catching his garments, his small chest heaving. The words his new Roman caretakers had murmured to each other (he had been learning their language the longer they stayed) while they thought he was asleep rang in his head, making him push even harder-faster. He had to get there before it was too late.

"_I heard that to the west, there are some revolutions going on."_

That had peaked his interest. The small country continued to feign sleep, however, in order to continue listening.

_"Oh yes! The Silures! I heard that, too!"_

The Silures-his brother! Britannia was sure when he had last heard from him, he had been staying with that tribe.

_"Can you believe their tenacity? They have been fighting so strongly!"_

A swell of pride. Yes. That most certainly sounded like big brother.

_"There are rumors their leader-Caractacus-plans to give one final fight to push us out of Britannia."_

At that, little Britannia couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore. Green orbs shot open, fear seeping in.

_"You must be kidding! A head-on fight like that-he will surely lose!"_

Yes. Of that much, even he was well aware. The little country slowly sat up in bed, a dazed, distressed look coming upon his face. Big brother...big brother would not win an all-out fight like that against Roman Empire, no matter how strong this 'Caractacus' was. Britannia's small fists gripped his light, cotton bed sheets in growing apprehension.

_"That's what I said! I am not sure whether to think of them as stubborn mules, or brave lions."_

_"How about a mixture of both? Ha ha! A lion's head, to show off their fierceness, but a donkey's-"_

Little Britannia did not stay to hear the rest. Throwing his sheets off him, he made a run for it, deciding not to grab the sandals he had been made by his caretakers, and choosing instead, to save time, to run barefoot.

After all, he would be taking a horse for most of the journey.

But only now did he realize that having a horse was only so good for so long. There were some terrain too rough for the companion, so he told it to stay where it was as he traversed the rest of the way (merely a day's travel on foot) to where he heard the Silures would be.

Which took him to where he was now, stumbling onto the Silure's camp, and trying to tell them that he wanted to speak with his brother-but of course, how would they understand? Dialects were so different when you went to different regions...plus, he _had_ been speaking Latin for the past few years; was it bad to have trouble switching back to Brythonic...?

Then, his brother finally came to him (more or less to see what all the ruckus was about), and told the others to stop harassing him (that was _his_ job, the older nation added with a teasing grin, which little Britannia glowered at-really, all this distance, all this trouble, for more hazing?). After a small dispute with some of the much larger, older men of the tribe, big brother finally got them to allow the nation a private audience with the smaller one.

Which was used _immediately_ once the others were out of earshot (just to be on the safe side, Britannia tugged his brother even a little further into the trees, much to the older one's amusement).

This is what America, Japan, and France found themselves witnessing as they landed, at that moment, a few meters away from the two brothers. Although none of them had spoken, almost all three pointlessly shushed each other upon landing, and crowded into a hiding place in order to listen to the unexpected conversation they had stumbled upon.

Although America couldn't help but mouthing in surprise to his two friends, 'Dude! It's Wales! Can you believe it? Does this mean Britannia is free of the Roman Empire?' anyway.

France really didn't want to tell the younger one the truth-seeing as how the prospect of a Roman-free England cheered up the American considerably-but had to, shaking his head. He didn't let himself see Alfred's face turn crestfallen, choosing instead to turn to Kiku questioningly. As if on cue, the Asian already had his Blackberry at the ready, translation device beginning to work its magic.

They read hungrily as little England began to speak. "_Brother, please. Please don't fight Roman Empire head-on. Continue fighting as you've been doing. You'll lose if you bet it all on this one-"_

A sudden rare, dark look crossed over Wales' face. "_-This is what you came to me for?"_ he interrupted. "_To make me go ahead and surrender while I can still fight? I'm not weak like you, little brother."_ The last word was spat out rather harshly.

Britannia fisted his tiny hands, fighting the frustrated anger growing within him. "_For the record, I didn't just _give up, _you know_._ But I _did_ come all this way to tell you this-because even I don't want you to lose! You really could win! You could unite our people! Caractacus is a great man. Even I can feel it. He could lead us to greatness, to ridding ourselves of the Romans. But not in an all-out battle like the one he wants. Roman Empire is still too strong as he is now!"_

_"Save it, little brother. Your underestimation of my peoples' power is disappointing. Trust me. Caractacus has chosen a perfect place to make our final stand. When we win tomorrow, you will see the pettiness of your words."_

_"No!"_ Fear for his brother and the possibility that he could end up in the same fate as his own made Britannia reach out to grab his brother's arm as he was turning away. That same hand was quickly shaken off, but the boy did not give up. "_Brother, I'm not degrading you! I'm telling you this for your own good! Listen to me!"_

_"I won't listen to the advice of someone as naive as you! You know nothing of battle! That is evident in the way you lost to the Romans!"_

_"I know how to fight!"_

_"A lie!"_

Deeply upset, Britannia clenched his fists even tighter, thick eyebrows furrowed in a battle of keeping his emotions at bay. "_I can fight! I held them off long enough until...until Claudius came along!"_

_"Only under that Belgica leader! Face it, little brother. You're still too young to understand anything of war."_

America furrowed his eyebrows-what an ironic statement, he mused bitterly-as England shouted. "_Fine then! But one day, big brother, I'll prove to you I can fight! And I'll show not only you-I'll show the entire world that I know war!"_

Wales cracked a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. "_See? This just proves my own statements. You don't even know what you're saying."_

_"_Now_ who's degrading _who_?" _little England muttered bitterly, averting his green eyes from the identical ones of his older brother and glaring at the ground.

Sighing, Wales shook his head. "_Go play with your rabbits or something. I look forward to seeing the look on your face when you see that I am victorious, and have saved you from the Romans, though." _The way England was glowing at his older brother certainly implied he wanted to smack that smug grin off the older one's face.

And indeed, he tried, but Wales simply dodged and laughed, breezily waving a hand at him over his shoulder. England angrily shouted some things after his retreating back, but the three countries who were previously watching no longer paid any attention.

Instead, they looked to each other, before Kiku started furiously working on his Blackberry.

"Hurry, Kiku!" America urged in a hushed voice. "Why can't that app load any faster when we actually want to find out what's going on?"

Japan seemed to be working up a sweat of his own in this panic. "I-I'm not sure! It's just irony, I suppose!"

"_Boy_ do I hate her!"

Idly, France looked to America questioningly. "..._qui_?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Ira Nee. Y'know."

Calling on great patience (even Kiku stared in speechless wonder for a moment at their companion), France pinched the bridge of his nose-and suddenly, suddenly understood with great clarity why poor England did that action constantly when accompanied by the land of the free. "Not only does he think reading the atmosphere is a book...he also thinks irony is a legit _femme._"

"...that is...impressive," Kiku murmured quietly, turning back to his Blackberry, still stunned. He shook his head distractedly.

But then the happy cry of a familiar small country snapped all three out of their thoughts, looking up to catch eyes with the small, bright green ones of little England, nobody spoke a word. Not for a long, long moment.

Then, ever so slowly as the silence dragged on, the bright, triumphant-_hopeful_-smile that was once upon England's features drained away. A blank, passive look of understanding slowly replaced it. He murmured something quietly then, and then appeared confused, his eyes passing between America and Japan numerous times as if to figure out their true intentions (France, however, noticed with a small smirk that the boy completely avoided looking at him).

Finally, America gasped with a rare moment of brilliance. "Latin! He's speaking Latin!_ I_ can speak Latin!"

France looked to the younger country in shock. "Since _when_?'

"Psh; since my professors have totally been trying to understand it. Dead language it may be, but us Americans are stubborn in pursuing pointless stuff like that." With a proud grin, at that moment, America slowly sank into a squat before the still confused England, who watched with apprehension as the distance between them was shrinking.

But Alfred tried to show as much as possible through his blue eyes that there was nothing to fear. And it was only at that point that France and Kiku finally realized what the man's intentions were.

"Wait! Alfred-!"

"_Roman Empire has taught you Latin, right?"_

A hope beyond what Alfred had been expecting burst to life within little Arthur's green eyes. The boy grinned immeasurably wide, clapping his small hands together as he replied, "_Yes! Yes! You speak Latin?"_

_"Some,"_ America answered honestly, scratching the back of his head. "_I'm not very good at it."_

_"That's okay! I'm not, either!" _

The sheer joy on England's face at finally being able to communicate with America was enough to shush Japan and France into stunned, hesitant-fearful-silence. They cast glances at each other, but that was it. Neither could tell the other of the sudden urgency to get Alfred away from Arthur. The careful balance of history was slowly getting from bad to worse the more the two interacted.

But yet neither of the two most at fault seemed to have any care in the world about it.

Especially Arthur, who at that moment, had a tender, sad look upon his face. Hesitantly, he reached out with a small hand, and tentatively placed it upon the much larger hand of the wheat-colored nation in front of him, murmuring, "_...where have you been...?"_

And without needing an elaboration, America understood.

With conflicted, warring responses, the older one finally settled on muttering, "_I'm sorry..."_ Upon sudden inspiration, he decided to use history to his advantage-and be honest at the same time. "_...it's hard to explain...but I _had_ to let Roman Empire get you."_

"_Why?"_

America took a breath. "_Because...otherwise you would not have learned Latin! And then...we couldn't have talked."_

England frowned, tilting his head upwards towards the sky in a moment of thought. Then, he spoke up again. "_You have been watching me for a while."_

America nodded, knowing he was treading on very dangerous grounds. "_Yes."_

_"Why?"_

Hadn't he heard somewhere how kids especially ages 4-5 tended to ask around 200 questions a day or something like that? Gawrsh...it was a bit annoying, especially when you were trying to be careful. "_Consider me...a guardian spirit."_

England's eyes glanced to the other two behind Alfred, who were watching the conversation via a strange, small, box object that seemed to fit in the hand of the black-haired one. "_Them, too? Even the one who looks like the frog?"_

Biting back a laugh, America nodded. "_Them too. All three of us are...watching you, we'll say."_

_"As my...guardians?"_

Alfred winced. What could he say? What could he _not _say? _"Somewhat...but look. You can't tell anyone about us."_

Little Arthur tilted his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed. Curiosity lit his green eyes. "_Why not?"_

_"Because..."_ Think, Alfred-think! What could he say? "_...bad things...will happen..."_ he murmured slowly, trying to find the right Latin words. He watched the younger form of his father figure (who still had a blank look of confusion on his face)before sighing and rubbing his eyebrows. "_Just...you can't tell anyone about us. All right? _They_ are mad at me enough for talking to you." _With that statement, he jerked a thumb behind him towards Japan and France.

"_Why? I like talking with you."_ England frowned after sending a brief glance to Kiku and Francis, green eyes shifting with a hinge of sadness.

Alfred gave him a small smile. _"I like talking with you, too."_

_"Then-then why-?"_

A rustle in the leaves. Everyone's attention snapped towards the direction the sound had come from. Instantly, America hopped up, backing up towards France and Japan, who, upon reuniting with the tall country, also joined in removing themselves from the vicinity as quickly as possible before they were seen.

For a brief moment, America turned back towards England, who had chased after him, looking greatly disappointed. With a small, rueful chuckle, he forced himself to say, "_England, you can't come. We have to go. We can't be seen."_

England would have none of it, apparently. He still followed them as they quickened their pace. "_Why can't I come?"_

America struggled with an answer that wouldn't come to him. "_Because...uh...because..."_

But apparently, luck was on his side, as cruel as it may be. England, barefoot, suddenly tripped over a root that he hadn't seen while chasing after the older three nations. If America hadn't been trying to get away from the little one in the first place, he would have instantly turned back and been all worried over him (faint memories flashed in his mind of Big Brother England doing the same thing to him when he had been but a little colony). But seeing as how things were...

Turning around and going into a full run with France and Japan following suit with relief, America called out, "_I'm sorry-"_ -luckily he caught himself before saying 'England;' _that_ would have caused a mayhem of events- "-_I'm sorry, Britannia!"_

If America had stopped to look back, he would have seen England watching the retreating three figures mournfully-and then angrily, stubbornly. He would have seen the smaller nation pushing himself up, wincing at the small boo-boos his fall had made on his knees and feet, but ignoring it so that he could run after the older ones-his mysterious 'guardian spirits.'

And if he had followed England's course-which indeed, was completely separate from the real way the nations had fled for he had no idea where they went-he would have seen the nation unfortunately run into a very angry Roman Empire after a great time of wandering.

But England's recapture by his governing nation went unnoticed to America, Japan and France who indeed had more pressing matters to think upon as they ran.

"What do you _mean_-" -a pant- "-it won't let us time-hop again?" A pant; but the time it took to do that only let more desperation and fear sink in. "It's not broken, is it?"

* * *

England's hard exterior that he had worked so hard on keeping up cracked just the slightest as he visibly stumbled for the first time.

That set all the other nations in the room in a flurry of concerned activity. Instantly, China and Italy were at his side (as well as Canada, but who was he again?), not touching him (for they knew how prideful the island nation was), but there nonetheless, hovering worriedly.

"England, are you all right?" Italy finally asked. He swallowed, giving a nervous smile. "Did Alfred, Francis and Kiku do something?"

England didn't trust himself to talk just yet. The wave of headaches and nausea rolling through him was staggering; but why was that? What was the source? What did they do that was causing all of these changed memories in his head?

And then he found it.

"The g-git!" England stammered out, hand at his forehead, as if trying to control the damage done. "He had a conversation with me-_that bloody_-"

"Who did what?" Germany was now on the alert.

"Alfred." England nearly spat the name out, yet at the same time, for some funny reason, he couldn't bring himself to be completely angry with the man. "_Alfred._ The...g-git...spoke to me in Latin."

China blinked in surprise. "Since when could Alfred speak-?"

"-who knows?" England growled, reaching out with his other hand for a chair. With gritted teeth, he muttered even as he sat down slowly so as to not disrupt his stomach any further, "I need to get home. Something's changing, and I don't like it."

Germany nodded. "I agree. Let's all of us head there."

"A-all of us?" Italy began to fret. "But I only packed enough clothes for the meeting's duration, Germany! I don't have enough for an extended stay somewhere!"

England gritted his teeth, bracing himself as another wave of new feelings, new memories crashed through him, destroying old ones. "Git. I...I have a washing machine, you know, and enough rooms for some of you to stay in. Not sure..." He took in a sharp breath through his clenched teeth. "...not sure about the rest."

China hesitantly put a hand on the younger one's shoulder, murmuring, "Don't worry about it. We'll delegate a team to go to London with you, Arthur. The rest of the nations will go back to their respective homes. We can't have the entire world's affairs suddenly be put on halt, hm?" He gave a toothless smile encouragingly.

But it was Germany who then spoke up and made it disappear. "However, the world's affairs _could_ entirely be changed by what Alfred, Francis and Kiku do. Let's not forget this _is_ _very _important, too, Yao."

The Asian turned to Germany somewhat offended-as if the blonde had insulted his wisdom instead of his words-but nodded anyway. "Right...I must apologize then. I spoke too soon." But there was hardly any remorse in that voice.

England huffed and pushed himself back up to a standing position. "Well...let's not dilly-dally here. I need to hurry." He bit back another wince, chewing on the inside of his lip. He quickly gathered his composure, or at least whatever that was left of it that he still maintained. "It's...it's difficult to deal with as it is without knowing what's really going on. I want to see my city."

"We know, Arthur." A small, rueful smile. Those words were very familiar to a certain inhabitant of the room. "We'll take you there soon."

Curious silence.

Then, a quietly hummed, "Who...?" from the ditzy Italian.

An exasperated sigh. "C'mon, guys. I'm Canada..." But the words lacked any true, memorable force.

* * *

_I am the voice of the future  
Bring me your peace_  
_Bring me your peace, and my wounds,  
__They will heal_

-"The Voice" by Celtic Woman


	6. Do Not Want

**Crystal's Notes:** Omgsh it's been ten days. ;.; I'm sorry, guys. I are an awful personnn...

But I hope the length of this chapter is enough to make up for it. 8D I had writer's block with it for a while, because it was hard to pick up after a dreary ending like the last chapter had. But thanks to the many, sincerely kind reviews (and a plate of cookies Se-chan was so kind to give me! 8D Many kisses to you, dear!) I have finally gotten this finished and up. xD Woot.

Let's see...we have a foreshadow to an event I'm sure all Hetalia (and Iggy-fans nonetheless xD) know about. The cursed date _1066._ I can't contain my excitement about that chapter. xD So I had to do _some_ hint to it. I'm trying to hurry up the Roman Empire and Anglo-Saxon period to get to it, just so you all are aware. xD But not leave out too-cool-of-history-information-in-this in the meantime. xD

Speaking of history information...

The passage below is in conjunction to the stuff mentioned in the previous chapter. 83 The whole big battle between the Silures and the Romans that Wales had pitched himself against? Yeah, they lost. Caractacus himself managed to flee, but when he tried to seek refuge, he was turned over to the Romans by the very people he was hoping would help him. xD Poor guy. But the passage below is actually how he gained his clemency from Emperor Claudius (who really wasn't as evil as a guy as I've been hinting him to see xD he actually treated the Britons better than most other Roman Emperors...). As he and his family were being marched in front of the Emperor's throne (this happened in Rome; else I would have had our time travelling trio witness this event xD), Caractacus boldly stepped forward, right up to Emperor Claudius' face, and gave him this speech. It was this courage that awed several people and made Caractacus famous-and which did indeed also win him and his family their freedom. 8D So it pays every now and then to be bold. Little history lesson there.

Ah! 8D And now we reach ebil Paulinus. In all reality, he, and the emperor before him both treated the Britons like slaves, as England attests. xD And because the Britons hated that so much, well, why not rebel? (I think Alfred inherited that attitude. xD)

And Anglesey. 83 Home of the Druids at that time period. Paulinus really did have his eyes set on that, thinking that if he got rid of the Druids, then all the fires of rebellion would be snuffed out, because they lost their dear religious leaders. But. 8D We'll get to that battle and everything about it in the next chapter because history is so darn interesting!

Man, this story is gonna be long if I keep things moving at this slow of a pace all the time...xD Heh heh. I'll try to speed things up. Honest. In the meantime, is there any other country's history people are interesting in reading? 83 Possibly? Cuz I'm not gonna lie, this is kinda fun...

Anyway, yes. To those who wonder. xD I did mention that Iggy is very partial to Londinium for two reasons. 1.) Because yes, that's his heart. xD His capital. Even way back then in the Roman Empire, Londinium was kinda the center of the province. The most rebellion to be found during that time was just north-east of there, and the city itself was considered the only Christian community on the island at the time. 83 2.) Because there are events that happen in the next chapter in which Iggy needs to be in Londinium for it to hit home properly. Mwaha. I sorry, bud. D: Honestly. Sorta. Kinda...okay, maybe not really.

Enjoy! Love you all to DEATH! And please forgive the delay! ;.;

PS: There's a logical reason as to why Kiku asks Alfred to act like a girl. xD There is. Because most servants who attend to clothing are female, right? So it would raise less questions if a female servant was found shifting through the clothes. See? Surprise, surprise. I can be logical. D:

* * *

_"If my moderation in prosperity had been as great as my lineage was noble and my successes brilliant, I should have entered this city as a friend, rather than as a captive; nor would you then have disdain to receive a prince descended from illustrious ancestors, and the ruler of many nations, into terms of alliance. My present lot, as it is to me ignominious and degrading, so it is a matter of glory and triumph to you. I had men and arms, horses and riches; where is the wonder if I was unwilling to part with them? If you Romans aim at extending your dominion over all mankind, it does not follow that all men should take the yoke upon them. Had I once been delivered into your hands a prisoner at discretion, neither had my lot nor your glory been thus signal. If you inflict punishment upon me, the affair will sink into oblivion; but if you preserve my life, I shall form an imperishable record of your clemency."_

-Caractacus to Emperor Claudius, roughly around 50 A.D.; the infamous speech which won him and his family freedom after capture by the Romans

* * *

In the end, it was probably a blessing in disguise that for the moment, they were stuck in ancient history. After all, it meant they could finally sleep (no matter how uncomfortable the ground was). And none of the three countries had quite realized just _how_ tired they were until they laid down for the night. They were out like lights.

Well...except for one certain nation.

Alfred had a lot to think about, after all.

He sighed, closing his blue eyes tightly, forcing his muscles to relax, before slowly opening his eyes again and gazing at the stars that he could see in between the canopy of trees above him. Everything was so quiet, calm, peaceful; the crickets chirped to one another, owls hooted quietly, beckoning little ones to sleep. The American could even see fireflies hovering over the blades of grass slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.

What an ironic statement in itself _that_ was.

With his leather-glove-covered hand, Alfred reached up and rubbed his forehead. This scenery much reminded him of the first place they had landed in while in England's past; the only difference was location. While they had been much further south during that time, now they were west.

_And _they were stuck.

That was what made America wince. He had to admit, at first, it seemed like a mighty wonderful idea-seeing the stuffy ol' man's history? He had been reminded of how much about his mentor he was still negligent of, and that, in turn, made him seriously want to grab a box of popcorn and kick up his legs to enjoy the educational show.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as if things were that easy. For one, he was completely _here_, visible. Not only not in his own time, which was a major problem in itself-but also, now able to affect the past. It bothered him. Especially his own reactions to what he was seeing, and how he had willingly allowed himself to make such an impact on young England.

He had forgotten how easily influenced young nations could be.

They took easily to the words of nations older than them, seeing as how they had no culture of their own quite yet. They would grab hold of the exciting new world presented to them with their little fists, and cling and soak it in like a thirsty sponge, and yet want more.

So they would create their own culture. Their own interpretation of how things should be.

But now, instead of the Roman Empire being England's sole influence, the boy was unknowingly being affected by Japanese, American and French culture. One of the three which he himself had created.

This was a problem.

Alfred rubbed his forehead once more.

_Suddenly..._ he couldn't help but muse to himself. _...history isn't so fun anymore when you're living _through_ it..._

And the American could very much attest to that fact.

With a sigh, however, the man decided he had enough thinking about the fact for the moment-after all, what good did moping about it do when there was nothing he _could_ do?-before rolling over on the grass to get some sleep.

That was when he heard him.

"Pssst..._l'Amérique._ Are you awake?"

Ah. So he _wasn't_ the only one. Although probably for different reasons. Alfred couldn't help but snicker a little to himself. "Yeah. What is it, Francis? Can't sleep unless you're in your nice, big, fluffy bed?"

France scoffed. "_Mais non._ It is not that. It is the sleeping _alone_ that bothers me...unless you would like to fix that problem~."

"Ahem. I'll pass."

An awkward silence.

Then there was a shift in the grass, and America heard the Frenchman's voice again-this time, hesitant. Very odd for the normally confident, suave blonde. But now that America thought about it, the entire time they had been in England's history, France had been acting weird. It wasn't just then at that moment. "Alfred...how much do you know of _le histoire de l'Angleterre_?"

"Hm? I...uh..." America frowned in thought. What, was the guy a mind-reader? "I...was actually just thinking about that," he replied honestly, before rolling over so he could see his ally lying a few feet away, watching him.

"And?"

"And..." Alfred kept the frown on his face as he responded, "...I...realized I don't know a lot. Actually," he gave a quiet, small bitter laugh before adding, "I only know the details of his life from where it concerned me." He shook his head a little in scolding of himself, hearing the grass whisper beneath his head as he did so. "How heroic does _that_ sound?"

France, on the other hand, seemed relieved for some odd reason. He breathed out easily, relaxing. "_Non, mon ami._ Even I...prefer that you don't know everything."

Now it was America's turn to be curious. "What do you mean? How much of England's history do _you_ know?"

"Nearly everything." France smiled ruefully, a strange look entering his blue eyes. He looked to America-and for the first time, the land of the free saw just how old the European country before him was. "I have been around for a long time, Alfred. I know several countries' histories-some more than others. And England's is one of them."

"I wish I were in your shoes," Alfred frowned, looking thoughtful.

At that, France bitterly laughed-so strangely, hurtfully, that America found himself wincing at the sound of it. "_Non, non,_ don't wish that. You..." The blonde closed his eyes and shook his head. "...you should never wish you were me."

"But you're so close to England," Alfred found himself arguing. Was he really defending the country of love? Despite how perverted he was? Well...he could be a good guy now and then. Could be being the operative phrase. "I mean, sure, you guys fight a lot, but it's like it's your own way of getting along together, y'know? But me and England? He..." America frowned. "...sometimes, I still think he hasn't totally forgiven me..."

"He has."

Alfred blinked at the sudden, confident, even almost reprimanding, interjection. "W-what? How do you know that?"

Once again, France seemed so old as he opened his eyes, not even meeting Alfred's curious glance as he watched the grass beneath him. "You will see before long. We're slowly getting closer and closer to a time that I would rather...forget than live through again."

"What does_ that_ have to do with Iggy forgiving me?"

France turned away from the American so that his back faced his ally instead of his face. "_Tu vas voir_," he murmured quietly-so quietly, Alfred almost missed it. "You will see..."

That was all he would get out of Francis that night.

* * *

Getting back into London was like placing a cool rag on his heated forehead. England could almost feel the immediate change wash over him like a tidal wave; the relaxation that entered his muscles as his personified self met once again with his land, and the ease with which he breathed the bustling city air.

_Hello,_ his city, his very heart, seemed to murmur to him contentedly. _It is nice to see you again._

The smile that graced his lips was barely noticeable, but it was there. He was home, and nature itself seemed to know it and be pleased.

He turned to his comrades who had offered to stay with him through this ordeal. Northern Italy, Germany, China, and one other bloke who's name England couldn't remember for the life of him had all agreed to come, and were rather faithfully following him into his very home. And to be honest? The island nation was rather...glad for their company. On one hand, it seemed a bit of an overreaction to have four other countries come just to tend to his aid and save his history from the hands of three reckless personifications. But on the other, it seemed logical, what with the way his history was so deeply intertwined with several other nations'.

He supposed, however, that was what happened when one, at one point, was an empire.

They were there simply for _him._ No, no...it was because they were indirectly involved, too. Yes, this was to save their own hides. No one would be selfless enough to simply come help him because they cared.

They were nations, after all.

Clearing his throat as he opened his front door and allowed the four others inside (two of them, Germany and China, carrying the time machine), England murmured, "I'll set up the guest rooms upstairs for you all. It _is _getting late. We may as well call it a day for now."

After setting down the time machine on the coffee table in Arthur's living room, China stretched out his back with a minimal wince. "That is a pleasant idea. However, what if something happens overnight?"

England shook his head, closing the door. "I will be fine for a few hours, Yao. Nothing drastic will happen in that period of time, I assure you." _And even if it did, I would be more than capable of taking care of myself. I don't need to be babysat._ He made sure that silent message was understood with the gentle, if reprimanding, look he gave the older nation.

Italy was tapping the tips of his fingers together as he nervously watched them. "So...does that mean we can go to bed now...?"

England nodded, turning towards the stairway. "Yes. As soon as I make sure they're ready."

"Yay!" The pasta-loving nation instantly reached out for Germany, wrapping his arms clumsily around the taller one's shoulders, and leaning into him precariously. "Let's share a room, Germany~! That would be funnnn~!"

Germany, on the other hand, flustered, and stumbling, bumped into the coffee table where the time machine sat. It precariously wobbled, made some strange sounds, and then (to their relief) sat quietly. Immediately, the older nation barked out more harshly than intended as he tried to wriggle out of the Italian's grasp, "Careful, Feliciano! You almost made me hit it!"

"Hit what?"

"Kiku's time machine!"

"Would that...have been bad...?"

"_Yes_!"

Italy frowned, slowly loosening his arms around Germany. "Oh...so is it okay, now?"

China sighed, bending over again as he observed it. "I...I'm not sure...there's no real way to tell. You may have accidentally done something..."

Italy flailed his arms (now free of a certain German) in brief panic. "_Ve_~! I didn't mean to! Is it bad? Broken? Are they dead now because of me?" He whimpered pitifully at the prospect.

The one man who nobody could remember the name of knelt down next to the tired Chinese beside the coffee table, also helping in observing the time machine to check for any damage. Although none could be seen, he too, had heard the strange noise it made as it wobbled on the table. With a careful hum, the blonde reached out and tabbed the panel which had opened to allow them to speak with the three missing nations earlier. He was hoping it would do the same now.

"Why don't we find out...?" he murmured softly as he activated it.

All four other nations seemed to jump at his comment.

"Matthew!" England's eyebrows were raised high in surprise, observing him. "When did you get here?"

"What do you mean?" Canada frowned and then sighed. "Did you forget again? I've been here the entire time..."

England blinked, relaxing. "Oh...you're right...I'm sorry, I forgot..."

Canada shook his head after a minute, turning his attention back to the screen. "It's okay. You just still need to work harder on that, I guess..." With a small smile in England's direction (more or less, to assure the older one he wasn't entirely offended; it had happened countless times already, he was so used to it), Canada then spoke up to the machine. "Alfred? Kiku? Francis? Are you there?"

Everyone waited. And waited. And...waited? No sound emitted from the machine, much to everyone's growing unease.

Suddenly more awake because of said worry, China leaned forward and tried again. "Kiku! Alfred? Francis! You are all all right, yes?"

This time, they got somewhat of a response.

* * *

"_Kiku! Alfred? Francis! You are all all right, yes?"_

Japan was the first one awake, and that was only because it was his Blackberry that appeared to have grown lips and vocal chords and begun to speak to him.

Strange.

Shifting slightly, (and becoming a tad bit confused since, after all, wasn't there supposed to be grass under him instead of a rough stone floor?) the Japanese reached for his Blackberry, and opened his eyes just slightly to see its screen as he mumbled, "_H-hai..._is that Yao?"

"_Yes!"_ The man's voice sounded much relieved. "_Kiku, are you all right? You sound tired."_

"_I am. You just woke me up."_

"_Sorry. But we wanted to make sure you three were all right. Ludwig accidentally knocked into the machine-"_

_"-Feliciano made me do it!-"_

_"-I'm sorryyyyyy!-"_

_"-and it had made a strange sound. We were just checking in."_

And then the reality of the situation sank in to the Japanese. He sat up quickly, examining the Blackberry more carefully (was it working again? Finally?), before catching sight of their new surroundings.

And then finding himself speechless.

He, as well as America and France, were indeed not in the same time that they had left, nor where they in the same place. They were in an expensive, old, Roman house of some sort. No windows, only gaping doorways letting large amounts of warm sunshine in, which bounced off of the white and grey walls.

But the worst part?

There were a few servants (all female) who were staring at them as if they were aliens.

Which...they really were, considering their situation...

But this was a serious problem.

Jumping to his feet, Kiku yelled into the Blackberry, "_Sumimasen,_ Yao. But I can't answer! We're all right. We've been transported to a different time-"

"-_what? What's going on?-"_

"We're in a different time! Must leave! Bye!"

Ending the call, Japan dashed over to France and America, not even bothering to wake them up so much as grab them by the backs of their coats and drag them to their feet with strength quite surprising for a man of his short stature. Not even breaking his stride (and, quite frankly, ignoring the slurred complaints of his companions), he pulled them out of the room, and paused for a brief moment to look down the different hallways presented to him.

The alarmed shouts of the women behind him finally spurred him on to hurry up and pick a direction, so he dashed down the hallway to his right, choosing the first room he came across to stash themselves in.

It was really too bad that these Roman palaces (he decided that since it was so large, that must be what it was) had no doors. Doors provided an excellent way to hide. But the fact that this room he had randomly chosen had no windows and seemed rather dim (not to mention it was stuffed full of piled clothing, either used or clean he didn't know) gave Japan an idea that they wouldn't search here immediately for the strange intruders.

So they had time.

"Quick!" he shouted to the more awake Frenchman and the still-groggy American, shoving random robes their way. "Put these on!"

That, at least, awoke France up.

"_Quoi?_" he demanded, examining the white, unornamented cloth as if it were squashed insect. "Never! This tacky thing could be unsanitary-!"

"-_Do it_! Before they find us!"

America stared at his robe he had been handed a long time, as if the unoiled cogs in his brain were still creaking themselves to try and work. It seemed to be a humongous effort for the bespectacled man. "Who finds us...?"

"The Romans!"

France looked around for the first time, seemingly becoming more and more aware of his surroundings as the sleep haze cleared from his blue eyes. "_A-attend!_ I thought we were in a harmless little forest, with no pesky Romans in sight, and-and that machine of yours was supposed to be broken, _non_? How are we-?"

"-The others did _something_ to it in our current time. I think they accidentally sent us forward a few years. How many, I'm not sure. But we're still in the Roman period, so it can't be too much later." Japan, who had already changed while the Frenchman and the American were still trying to understand what was going on, peeked out of the room into the hallway, ducking back in quickly as he saw something he apparently didn't like. "Hurry!" he then added. "They come closer!"

That got the other two working. France, for once, did not make a perverted comment about the situation (probably realizing the need to remain quiet so as not to draw attention to the room they were in), and changed silently, much to the strained relief of the other two with him.

Once both were donned in the old white robes, Japan stepped forward and gathered their normal clothing, holding them as close as possible to himself even as he hunched over, acting like he was fiddling with the outfits scattered around their feet. With a finger he indicated for France and America to join him with their backs to the doorway, hunched over and acting in the same fashion as the Asian.

They could hear rapid footsteps, as well as much talking that was growing louder (and more agitated) as it neared.

Upon noticing them, Japan, without warning, reached out and grabbed America's glasses, ripping them off his comrade's face as he quickly murmured, "Sorry; can't have you wearing those. But I _do_ need you to do something important, Alfred. You can speak Latin, right?"

The American, although miffed at having his glasses abruptly and rudely taken from him, nodded. "Yeah. Just hope you know I can't _see_ that well without Texas, but whatever."

A sigh. "You can have them back soon. But for now, I need you to act like a woman."

"W-what?"

"Shh!" Japan dared a glance back to the doorway, seeing the front of a Roman soldier's sandal as they rounded the corner to the room. His heart skipped a beat, and he instantly turned around, hissing, "Just do it! Now!"

"_You! What are you three doing here?"_

"_U-uh..."_ Inwardly panicking (and still trying to make sense of what was going on; seriously, what the heck? One minute, he had been finally sleeping peacefully, and next thing he knows, he's being pulled to his feet by Kiku, and then shoved into a robe and told to act like a freakin' chick. What?) , Alfred said the first thing that came to mind. "..._searching, sir."_

France nearly broke their not-so-subtle cover by barely restraining a strong bout of laughter at his comrade's attempt at a female's voice. Seriously. What the heck.

Good thing he kept it under control, though; one voiced 'hon' and he would have smacked the Frenchman into oblivion.

No joke.

"_Searching? For what?"_

Crap. Now he had to think even more. Uh... _Think, Alfred, think!_

"..._ugh. Forget it. Some crazy servants said there were three odd, human-like creatures in their quarters, but I have not seen anything. I think we are all getting superstitious. I blame it on Paulinus and his ridiculous desire to attack Anglesey ..."_

Not even waiting for a response, the Roman soldier then moved on, continuing to mutter to himself sourly about how they should never have attacked that possessed island or something or another. Either way, the three nations did not care much, waiting until the man was well out of earshot, before letting themselves relax.

Or, in France's case, snicker uncontrollably. It made the tension suddenly jump back up again.

"Shut up!" America barked, face turning red. "You should _thank_ me! I saved our _butts_ right there!"

That only amused Francis more, who replied in between 'hon-hon's, "But in quite an unheroic fashion, _non_~?" He laughed a bit more. "I sure hope you don't sound like that in bed~."

"I will _sock _you!"

And he very nearly did, if Japan hadn't intervened, placing his pale arms firmly in between the two nations. "Please," he then urged. "No fighting. Not now. We still need to get out of here."

"_Oui~._ No fighting, Alfred~."

"I heard him the _first time,_ thank you."

Japan sighed. "_Please,_" he urged. But there was worry behind that single word; a strong dose of it that, quite honestly, shocked his two companions.

Sensing the Asian's growing sense of displeasure, both American and Frenchman hesitantly nodded, scooping up their set of clothes that had fallen (Japan had dropped them in relief after the Roman soldier left), and then maneuvering with their comrade across the room to the doorway, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear. Upon noticing that much, they crept out and headed down a hallway, sticking to the shadows with the intent not to be seen.

It wasn't until Japan reached up to grab a lighted torch along their journey that America finally found it in himself to start talking in the awkward silence. "Hey...Kiku? How did we wind up here in the first place?"

"The others. They got the machine to work for us." His answer was quiet, barely-heard, and very simple, but America, standing close to him as they moved along, understood.

It made him grin in excitement. "Really? Does that mean we can time-hop again?"

Japan shook his head. "No, and I wouldn't try it yet. Not until we get rid of our old clothes."

That got France's attention. "What do you mean?" he eyed the flaming torch Japan had picked up suspiciously. "I hope you aren't going to burn them..."

The idea widened America's eyes, but Japan only seemed to stiffed. "Actually...that was what I had in mind. I hope neither of you have too much attachment to them."

"A-are you kidding me? My leather jacket? _Why_?" America clung rather possessively to his clothes, now glaring at the back of the Asian's head as they finally got outside of the palace, and began hugging the wall to head to the rear of the construction, where nobody appeared to be.

Japan sighed, even as he found a good empty place where it appeared that a fire had been burned before. There was a ring of stones around it, burnt ashes in the center and dark, dry mud inside. It was perfect. "I will explain in a moment. Let us first get rid of this evidence that we're from the future."

"We better not be burning Texas!"

There seemed to be a great weight on the Asian's shoulders; a dark cloud looming above his head that darkened his mood, but even with all that, he couldn't work himself up to be angry at America's insistent rebellious attitude. He merely sighed again. "We won't. But you must keep your glasses hidden. With that said and done, can we please hurry this up?"

Alfred frowned, but nodded anyway, reluctantly throwing his jacket, his shirt and pants (oh...and the shoes; he wasn't quite sure how they would burn, but if they needed so desperately to get rid of them, they would probably have to take that risk with the hope of them at least being melted so much, no one would care to try and figure out what it previously was) into the pit, Francis following suit after a short hesitance. Kiku threw his in, and then lit the mound with the fire, stepping back once the flame caught and burned.

There was a slightly mournful silence after that. Long, and awkward. But in which, America couldn't help but tease, "Y'know...I really did like that jacket."

"_Tais-toi, l'Amérique._ I bet you have 50 of them back at home."

"Actually, 49 now, but y'know."

Japan's shoulders slumped, the built-up tension finally leaving his small frame. "_Gomen..._I just..." Hesitant, uncertain silence. It was a moment before he continued. "I have a bad feeling...I thought it best if we got rid of those clothes. People continue seeing us, and it may just get worse. So I thought..."

"...to blend in with the surroundings?" America smiled a little and shrugged. "Sounds good. And you're probably right. Besides, this gives us a chance to be like...secret agents or something. Y'know."

"Actually, I don't. Would you please elaborate, Alfred?"

"Ugh. Y'know. Like undercover or something." At seeing the Frenchman's smirking expression, he growled. "You're just trying to-"

"-_no! No! Let me go!"_

The familiar young voice crying out in Latin sent all three nations into a sudden stiffness.

But there was a new voice who replied. This one much deeper, and recognizable. Older. One as strong as a firm building not eroded with time. In that instant, Kiku had his application up and working, and although even Alfred had an idea of what was being said, they all huddled around the little Blackberry, reading as the voice responded. "_You are being an insolent brat! You _will_ do as I say!"_

Roman Empire. There was no doubt.

"_No!"_ There was no doubt that was England. They could hear his voice behind him, and dared not turn around even as they listened to the proceedings. It was better not to be recognized, especially in this situation. "_I want to stay here! I don't want to go to Anglesey with you!"_

_"But isn't that where your precious Druids are now? Don't you want to see them after all these years?"_

_"See them as you hurt them? As you _kill _them? I see no pleasure in witnessing the death of my friends!"_

Roman Empire laughed, a loud, harsh laugh. It made them all cringe. "_Get used to it, brat. As you grow and thrive, you will see the deaths of many friends. This is just the first. Consider it educational."_

_"I don't want to!"_

_"You will! You can't stay in Londinium forever-why ever do you like it so much here, anyway? It rains all the time!"_

_"I...!"_ Little England's voice ran off uncertainly, and hesitantly, they could hear the shuffle of his feet. "_I don't know...but it feels...important to me." _He paused for a small moment, but when Roman Empire didn't respond, he meekly continued. "_My entire body hums while I am here. I feel strong, content. And I am...as at home as I can be while under your tyrannous rule here."_

"_Tyranny?" _Another short bark of laughter._ "_That's _what you think my government is?"_

_"You treat my people like slaves! What, do you not remember what you did to Queen Boudicca and her daughters?" _England paused for a small moment, before adding more fire to his words._ "You raped and took their riches, and yet you wonder why we rebel so much!"_

_"And yet you wonder why I strive to rid such insolence out of you!" _For some reason, Roman Empire suddenly sounded very angry. He must have grabbed England's arm again, for there was the faint sound of a scruffle, and then the even more raging exclamation of,_ "Stop struggling!"_

But apparently, England did not give up, for the sounds did not cease.

_"Have you learned nothing? Fine! Then I will wring every last drop of rebellion out of your body until you are _dry_!_"

The last word was barely even out of the Roman's mouth before all three nations heard the unmistakable crack of a whip-

-and then the pained, startled cry of a small nation boy.


	7. Of Queens and Daughters

**Crystal's Notes:** Omgsh two more reviews and then it's 50! ;.; You guys are AMAZING! Thanks SO much for sticking this through with me so far! I will confide in you-I hope to be out of the Roman Empire era and into the Anglo-Saxon period by chapter 10. xD Hopefully sooner! But who knows what information I may come across in my researching...

I love you all! ;.; To death! Historical notes are at the bottom so as not to give any spoilers to what may happen in the following chapter. Please, please, PLEASE enjoy!

And review. If it isn't too much to ask. xD Luff yew. So much. Love love. (heart heart)

* * *

Alfred was quite sure of what he was doing, yet at the same time, completely unaware.

It was as if his body were moving on its own accord, responding to England's wail of pain in conjunction with the whistle of the whip-the first invention to break the sound barrier, some little random voice reminds him in the back of his head-as it was arched backward for yet another strike on the poor, wounded little boy.

He would not allow it.

He could hear Japan and France's shouts-_angered_ cries, for hadn't they been through this a thousand times? He shouldn't change history!-but America paid them no heed. After all, how much was he going to change history by just sparing England from one single scar?

England. _England._

Even as he turned, and dashed forward, he could see the boy, on his knees-barely five years old in appearance (how long would it take for him to grow? No wonder it was delayed, under such an oppressive rule as the Roman Empire's)-clutching his shoulder, where a large rip in his clothing-stained a startling, alarming and spreading red-started, reaching from his bare, pale, raw-ripped shoulder blade, to the small of his back. Diagonal.

And Alfred couldn't help but wonder if Arthur still had that scar...

But time resumed the instant he had the small boy in his arms, and the moment he could feel the ground hit his back as he rolled over, the quickest way his improvising mind could come up with to evade that snake of a whip.

Even while being a ninja, however, America could feel the whip smack the ground right by his cheek, causing small chunks of pavement to jump up and make a thin, barely noticeable abrasion on his jaw.

But he didn't need a _gash_ to understand how close he-and England-had been to a terrible wound. That little nick did the trick enough.

He didn't even turn around once he had come to a stop from rolling. In fact, he pretty much ignored Roman Empire in general after getting to his feet and making a mad dash for it to safety somewhere, although it vaguely shocked him in the back of his mind that the man didn't even yell anything. Didn't shout after him, or scold him, or get angry.

The grandpa nation was eerily silent.

Alfred found he would have preferred it if he were more verbal.

But as it were, he had a small bleeding nation in his hands to take care of. A nation that, well, now that he could take a good look at him, was pretty uncomfortable being held bridal-style (not that America blamed him; that wound on his back looked awful).

With a small, comforting grin, America murmured, "_Sorry, friend. Just bear with it for a second. Can you do that?"_

England looked up at him for a long moment, pained shock on his young face, thick eyebrows raised. Then he grimaced again, before scowling and hesitantly nodding. He looked away, trying to relax as much as possible, but every jostle of the uneven Londinium roads made that action difficult. It was apparent to Alfred, even though he was watching him just out of the corner of his eye.

"_Do you know where I can take you to take care of this?" _he asked upon realizing that he actually had no plan of what to do after he had rescued the little one. And seeing as how he really, really wanted to get that wound cleaned up and mended...

England nodded quickly and curtly. "_It is not far from here. I will tell you the way."_

America smiled, holding him just a big tighter in comforting response as he slowed down his pace and for the first time since their escape, dared to take a glance behind himself. When he found no one there-no soldiers, guards, nor any enemy of any sort-not to mention no Japan or France, either-he breathed out a sigh of relief, trying to ignore the unease that ate away the back of his mind like a rabid herd of termites when he saw that. "_Good...I think we made it. I think we are safe."_

Had he looked down in his arms at that moment instead of turning around and keeping his eyes ahead of him, Alfred would have seen the tiniest of smiles slowly appear on England's face. But as it were, he only heard with great surprise a quiet whisper of contentment.

"_So...you really are my guardian, then..."_

And when he looked down, it was too late. England's face was contorted with grimaces again, the pain in his back and the blood-loss finally starting to get to him.

America picked up his pace just slightly, and couldn't help but have a happy feeling swell up in his chest.

* * *

There was a young girl bursting outside the door before America and England even entered. Her face was entirely one of worry and scolding, but all that vanquished in an instant and instead became replaced with fear as she beheld little Arthur's state.

But her pause was only momentary.

In a flurry, she began to talk, ushering them inside with rapid gestures made by thin, pale (_and_, Alfred couldn't help but notice with a twinge of pity,_ bruised_) arms. "_Quickly! Quickly! Take him inside and set him on his front on my table! I will get the medicine and bandages!"_ She spoke even as she pushed them inside and then dashed away out of view, probably running to get her equipment.

Although the dark-haired girl looked to be no older than fourteen or fifteen, America had to admit that after she came back and unrolled her sack of ointments, spices, and cloth, on the table beside Arthur, she apparently knew what she was doing.

Her next comment filled in the missing puzzle piece for him.

"_Little Britannia! How many times do I have to tell you? Mother wants you _well_ for the next rebellion. Not _hurt_. That only hinders our attempts!"_ the young teenage girl scolded as she ripped more of England's small white robe free of his back and began to apply some sort of mixture to his large wound.

The little boy winced, but held his whimper as he replied tersely, "_I could not help it! He wanted me to go to Anglesey with him! I had to say no and suffer the consequences..."_

She sighed, and more like slapped the bandages on around him than gently wrapped him up, making quick use of her work. "_Stupid, stubborn boy...what would _your _mother say if she were here, and not held captive in Rome, hm?"_

England stiffened just slightly, but then shook his head immediately afterwards instead of verbally responding, and lifted himself up just slightly so he could look over and peer at Alfred (for he previously, while lying on his stomach, was facing away from the young man and towards the girl who mended his back). He had a sort of amused look on his small face, Alfred noticed, green eyes shifting familiarly in that _I-don't-want-to-answer-that-question-so-I'm-going-to-be-annoying-and-elude-it_ kind of...Arthur-way.

That nostalgic look warmed his heart. Something that reminded him of home in this foreign (yet..not so foreign, was it?) land. Like letters from home during war.

"_You forget we have company, Heanua._" England's young voice shook Alfred out of his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. But by the time he looked, the head full of messy, sandy blonde hair was turned away from him again, looking towards his friend. "_This is the one I have told you about."_

_"Ah!"_ The young girl-Heanua, her name appeared to be-finally let her dark eyes scan over Alfred in close examination. "_Yes, the strange spirit..." _she murmured softly.

_"Yes."_

America stood in the awkward silence that ensued England's confirmation for a moment, before blurting out of instinct, "_I _am_ right here, you realize. In case you forgot."_

To his surprise, the young woman burst out laughing, and laughed so boisterously, that it sounded simply bizarre coming from such a fragile-looking girl. Loud, harsh, but happy. The often contagious kind. She politely covered her mouth a few minutes afterward, bowing in apology as she hurriedly murmured, "_Excuse me. It is just that...I have never heard anyone say that before-but you are right, are you not? We _were_ being quite rude, little Britannia..."_

England raised a large eyebrow, examining Alfred before shrugging (or, at least as best he could while propping himself from the shoulders-up on the wooden table). "_I suppose."_

"_Uncouth child. Mother's right; after we are free of the Romans, we really _should_ teach you proper etiquette."_ But there was no malice behind her words; only playful banter.

England seemed perfectly aware of this, but only shrugged minimally again, throwing the matter off. (Alfred couldn't help but find himself vaguely shocked; England? Was that stuck-up man really as rebellious as this as a child? Well, with an oppressor like Roman Empire, maybe...).

"_To be honest, sir, thank you for bringing my friend here safely."_ The girl smiled to him, snapping Alfred out of his thoughts.

America grinned back easily, pride swelling in his chest as he modestly waved a hand. "_Do not trouble yourself over it. It was the least I could do."_

Gingerly pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the table (although he made a small wince at that movement), the five-year-old-looking England peered up at him expectantly, curiously. But his green eyes were also scrutinizing him carefully, especially as he then asked, "_How long will you be staying this time before you must disappear again?"_

Ah. Hm. Uh...good question. America cleared his throat, stalling as he tried to think of an answer. Finally, he resorted to muttering, _"I am...unsure. Actually,"_ and here he laughed a bit, nervously, before continuing, _"I lost my friends when we were running away from-" _-Crap! Don't say Roman Empire! Don't say Roman Empire!- "-_that...man." _Alfred cringed at his own uncertain words and tone.

Oh, how he always sucked at lying when it was England (even when the guy was a little tyke, the jerk; must be the green eyes, he told himself; yeah, definitely).

"_Oh!"_ Heanua gasped, dark eyes wide. "_I am sorry! Do you need us to help you find them? Are they the only way you can return to wherever you come from?"_

Well, now that Alfred thought about it...

"_Actually...yes,"_ he confirmed with slight hesitance, dipping his head minimally, and then scratching the back of his mess of golden locks timidly. "_It is...really important that I find them. And probably as soon as possible..."_ Seeing as how they really _were_ his ticket back to the future.

Ha..._Back to the Future_...man, when he got back to the 21st century, Alfred knew how he was going to unwind.

Heanua smiled at him kindly; for some reason, that struck a chord within Alfred's heart. Seeing her bruised body, yet her smiling face. He was almost-and so, so close-tempted to ask her what had happened to her. But then as he watched her and Arthur interact (especially how gently she took care of her dear nation, helping him off of the table while being mindful of his back, and after setting him on his feet, pretending to be his mother as she dusted off his hair and kissed his forehead, murmuring something to him that Alfred couldn't hear), the land of the free found the words died on his tongue.

She had moved on, it seemed. And in respect of her, he refrained from asking at that particular moment about it, bringing up demons of the past. But that didn't mean his curiosity didn't still burned with interest.

It did.

"_Will you let us help you, then, sir spirit? In recompense for you saving my friend?"_ Heanua asked kindly, bringing America once more back to reality and holding Arthur's hand as she did so. The small island nation at her side looked very sour, clearly acting like he didn't want to aid in the search, but his green eyes, shifting with curiosity, betrayed that emotion. They continually flicked back to Alfred, as if unable to believe he was still _there_, and then quickly reminding himself that he shouldn't be caught staring, and looked away again.

America's smile never left his face, even as he returned his gaze to the dark-haired girl. "_Sure! That would be great!"_

The smile that enveloped his two new companions' faces could have lit all of New York City if there had been a blackout.

* * *

Pain.

_Pain._

In his back. It wasn't anything to scream about; nothing to fuss over. But it was there, like a giant scorpion poking and prodding up and down in a single line over his vertebrae.

And it hurt.

England, pressing his lips together tightly, dared not to move, although he very much wanted to curl up in an that instinctive subconscious habit. Instead, he resorted to pulling his bed sheets up more tightly around him, covering himself, even as he shook just the slightest at a new wave of muscles clenching and unclenching in his back.

He panted quietly, trying to wrack his memory. What happened...what new thing had happened? What did Alfred _do_?

Then, it was over as quick as it had begun, and England's green eyes snapped open in the dark once it had passed. He lied there a moment, resting, getting his breath back. But instantly, he also knew what he had to do. He had to check the damage, no matter how much at the moment his tired body didn't want to.

Pushing himself out of bed, he forced himself to stumble over to his bathroom, his legs still uncertain with how to cooperate after that weird experience. When he finally made it, he flicked the lights on and pulled off his shirt, turning around so that his back faced the mirror, his rear leaning against the counter for support as he did so.

_It's...it's not anything major..._ he tried to tell himself. Tried to shrug it off.

But the absence of a single long, barely-noticeable thin scar that usually accompanied the first thin one to form a long, slender 'x' diagonally on the left side of his back couldn't help but alarm him.

Those idiots had interfered.

Arthur turned back around, letting his neck rest from craning it so hard to see his back and instead stared at his tile flooring, once again wracking his brain. Subconsciously, he brought a pale hand up to rub his complaining neck muscles as he did so, trying to recall when he had gotten those two particular scars.

It was during the Roman Empire period, he could remember that much easily...was it from one of his rebellions? There had been several. Most of those scars had faded over time, though, so it had to have been a major one...

Then it struck him, and he straightened with shock, instantly rushing out of the bathroom as he threw his pajama shirt to the side, dashing to his closet and grabbing a different shirt instead. He had to go out-he had to check. He had to be certain. He also had to make sure those idiots wouldn't do anything so terribly _stupid_ because this time, a major event was going to happen.

And he couldn't very well have Alfred changing such a thing while trying to be his 'hero' self.

_Camulodunum,_ he thought to himself even as he hurriedly got dressed to do a random scouting. _No-wait-only the Romans called it that. _Colchester_; that's it's name now. First, she led them to Colchester...then...then Londinium..._

And that's where he had been at the time, told to wait until they would meet him there, along with her eldest daughter, Heanua. But Roman Empire had wanted him to leave with him to Anglesey, which had refused, so that he could follow his Queen's plans and the rebellion would go as planned...

There. _That _was when he had been whipped. _That_ was when Alfred-he could only assume it was Alfred, because Kiku and Francis would have been smart and stayed out of it-had interfered, and saved him from a second whip. That was where they were.

And just in prime time, too, because in perhaps a few days, or maybe more, maybe less, Arthur couldn't quite remember, the Queen would arrive at Londinium, and if Alfred were there at that time, and stayed until the battle after that...

Who knew what he would do, especially at what he would see.

But first...America. He had to try contacting the idiot. See if maybe he could send them to a different time period before he did anything stupid.

Ah...but then there was the problem of the machine. England had no idea how it worked. How to trigger the communication device, how to do anything. And based on what happened earlier that day with Italy and Germany, any little bump or nudge could send them to a different time period instantly. Which, well, now that he thought about it, was actually ideal, because England definitely wanted them _out_ of that sensitive era as soon as possible.

So he decided against waking up the others.

Jogging down the stairs as quietly as possible, the sandy-blonde haired island nation then knelt beside the contraption humming on the coffee table (Arthur vaguely wondered how it stayed powered; it wasn't connected to an outlet, definitely didn't have batteries, or else they would have had to change it by now...so how did it stay on?). But pushing such pointless thoughts out of his head (indeed, there were more important things to worry about), England hesitantly reached forward, looking for those two familiar square panels that both China and...who was it who had done it the second time? He couldn't remember. But both of them had touched it, activating it.

To his relief, the time machine obeyed his wishes, the two panels sliding aside, and the familiar screen turning fuzzy, even as it dimly lit his face in the dark of night. He waited a moment, preparing himself, before he spoke.

"Alfred...?" he asked quietly, pausing. Then there was nothing. So he tried again. "Kiku? Francis?" Another pause. Frustration began to build. "Are you gits there or not?"

"_A-ah...is that you, _Angleterre_?"_

Crap.

Arthur resisted the urge to be snappy with the frog, choosing instead to reply heatedly in the favor of getting important matters done and discussed. "Yes, it's me, Francis. Where's Alfred? I need to talk to him."

But all thoughts of trying to be quiet and letting the others stay asleep promptly and suddenly decided to jump off of the top of Big Ben as soon as he heard France's response.

"What do you bloody _mean_ you _lost him_? !"

* * *

It had been a smart idea of Heanua's to stick to the shadows instead of searching around in broad daylight for France and Japan. In all honesty, America didn't want to chance running into Roman Empire again and getting in trouble, and the girl herself seemed like she didn't want to be seen, so none of them had disagreed to it.

But it certainly made their search difficult.

Resting in the shadows in between two tall white buildings, America leaned against one of the walls, looking out in the cluster of people that walked by in their bright, loose robes, talking to one another. Most of them were older Romans; there were very few kids running about.

But in all honesty, if this was Londinium, then Alfred found himself surprised.

It didn't look like much. Sure, it was thriving and all, but it didn't seem all that...grand. Nothing like how Alfred thought it would look. Actually, it seemed rather unimportant, like Roman Empire didn't think much of the establishment and simply set it up to have a town for his retired soldiers. Just another vacation spot.

A weird vacation spot, however, considering it rained a lot there.

"..._ami...amicus..."_ Finally, a tug on his arm. "_Amicus...?"_

America snapped out of his daze, turning to his left immediately. "What?" Er. Wait. He cleared his throat. "_What did you call me?"_

Heanua seemed confused. "_Amicus." _

'Friend.' In Latin. Not 'America.'

Right.

Relaxing, Alfred cleared his throat again. "_Sorry. I thought you said something else. What is it?" _he put a smile on, despite how that seemed to make the young girl even more nervous.

She shifted slightly, dark eyes glancing over to where young England was, looking rather curious as he watched a small lizard scurry around his feet, before she turned her gaze back to America. Heanua swallowed. "_Since you are a spirit, I assume...you know who he is?"_

Ah. That. Alfred's own eyes wandered to England, and he couldn't help but let them soften as he regarded his former caretaker. "_Yeah,"_ he finally responded after a long pause. "_I do."_

Heanua nodded, watching Arthur as he leaned down and snatched up the lizard in his hand (or thought he did; when he opened them up closer to his face, he was surprised to not see a lizard there). "_I do not understand exactly _what_ he is. The Druids seem to somehow grasp it, but I cannot. All the same, however...I am worried."_

America blinked at her. "_Why worried?"_

_"Because..."_ the girl frowned, as if debating what to say. "_...because of my mother," _she finally murmured, looking sad. Looking scared. Her hands fidgeted with one another. "_Once the Romans have gone to Anglesey, she is planning the biggest rebellion we have yet encountered. From where she is in Iceni, she is planning to bring them south and then west-to here, Londinium-from where she will head north and wipe out all the Romans who have taken residence here in Britannia."_ Quickly, immediately, her head snapped up and she looked at Alfred pleadingly. _"Please do not tell anyone what I have just confided in you. It is most secret, and if it should ever be leaked out and my mother's plans be ruined-I...I..."_ For some reason, the girl started shaking. "_I couldn't...I couldn't bear the consequences..."_

Something began to click in the back of Alfred's mind. Carefully, he leaned forward, taking her shoulders in his hands gently. "_Heanua..."_ he began. "_...who _is_ your mother?"_

_"The Queen,"_ she whispered to him immediately, trusting him with her large dark eyes. America hung on her next words. "_The rightful Queen of Iceni, who has been denied her throne...the great Queen Boudicca."_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes (pt. 2):** Bum bum bummmm. xD Yay for the return of Queen Boudicca (Arthur mentioned her in the last chapter; kinda meant to be a foreshadowing xD)! We will meet her officially in the next chapter, and what exactly happens to her and her family because it's actually really important! xD Queen Boudicca left a huge imprint on British history, but people didn't really start thinking she was all that grand until the Victorian era...when they finally realized that "Hey...a _woman,_ of all things, totally led an army against the Roman Empire! Heck yeah!"

So yay for prominent women in British history. 8D

Also, yes, she really did have two daughters-and they were both raped by the Romans after being denied their royal standing in British society. ;.; So hence Heanua's bruises (since I imagine every once in a while, it happens again).

And yes, I'm stretching history again. xD I seriously doubt Heanua would have left her mother's side to stay in Londinium (with scary Romans!). And for one, no one is even sure what Queen Boudicca's two daughters' names were. Speculation says "Heanua" and "Lannosea," so I decided to go with it. xD But to be honest, there is no certain record of what their names were.

But as an author of a Hetalia fanfic, I can have a little creative liberties here and there, right? ;.;

I seriously hope you guys enjoyed this. ;.; I can't tell you how grateful I am for you all reading this-and all of your kind reviews! Honestly! Your reviews keep me going. I luff you all. (hands out cups of Arnold Palmer to everyone-because recently, I have become addicted to that stuff 8D).


	8. We Didn't Start the Fire

**Crystal's Notes:** I'll try to keep these short, because who actually reads these anyway? xD BUT I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!

...I'M SORRY!

Delay after delay after delay popped up...I won't waste your time telling you about it. xD;;; But understand: I AM SORRY. THIS WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN. NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP WITHIN NEXT WEEK. LIKE USUAL.

...I'm sorry. ;.;

* * *

It was one thing to be under arrest. But it was an entirely _other_ matter to be under _house_ arrest, and in a house that wasn't even theirs.

Japan wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand this as a good thing or a bad thing.

So he paced.

As he did so, he cast one wary eye to the Roman soldier keeping guard over them and who stood in the doorway of the room they were waiting in, before casting the same glance over to his blonde-haired companion, who, despite their situation, looked oddly relaxed as he sat down on a cushioned bench of sorts. But, of course, that was how France always appeared. But it was especially irritating this time, considering they had just been separated from Alfred..._and_ his Blackberry had been confiscated

His _Blackberry._

The one thing that was like their safety rope keeping them tethered to their current time, so that they wouldn't get lost in the vast, dark cavern they were traversing (much against their own will) called the past. The one thing-it had been taken from them!

And the worst part? They had seen France using it while speaking to England. Of course, the blonde had tried to keep quiet, even as he was conversing with his favorite ally/enemy, but the guard had heard him all the same, and snatched it away, giving it a strange wide-eyed glance, before calling to his friends and handing the mysterious contraption to them.

That was the last time they had seen it, being carried delicately away among the soldiers like it was some kind of mystical weapon.

It didn't make things sit well for the Asian.

France shook his head to himself as he watched his friend walk back and forth in front of him. He opened his mouth to comment-and indeed, the words were on the very tip of his tongue-before he was interrupted by suddenly loud, confident footsteps that broke the terse silence and became louder and louder as whoever was marching approached. Both nations shot to their feet, turning around to the doorway to see the guard there respectfully move out of the way to make room for the newcomer.

Roman Empire.

And by the nearly-seething look on his face, France especially felt unnerved, although he hid it very well as he always did. He could remember that look his old grandfather would give him whenever he or Italy got in trouble (or whenever he was just plan being mean to poor Feliciano); it was not a good one. There was a storm brewing behind his blue eyes; one to be wary of at the very, very least.

With a quick jerk of his chin, Roman Empire motioned for his human guards to leave them. And with a quick glance at each other, the two instantly straightened themselves to back-ridged stances, bowed with fists over their hearts, and then departed.

Leaving Japan and France all alone with a very angry empire.

_"Who are you?"_ the man hissed to them in Latin, his blue eyes especially locked onto Francis, and the blonde knew exactly why. _"Why are you here?"_

Francis cleared his throat, giving Japan a silent message with a side-glance. Although he had never mentioned it before, he too, knew Latin. Though he was probably much worse at it than America...something he would also never admit, so he decided to never bring the topic up. But now that he had to use it, well... _"We apologize, sir. We have not meant any harm-"_

_"-I want details. Now. You are the exact image of someone I know. Why is this? How is this? And what is that mysterious..." _It was clear Roman Empire was struggling to find a word to adequately describe the Blackberry, but upon coming up with nothing, he simply continued in frustration. "...thing_ that you were talking into?"_

Another nervous glance was shared between the two nations who most _certainly_ did not want to talk just yet. But their pause only served to amplify the tension. So much so it almost broke.

Especially when Roman Empire finally threatened them.

"_Do not try hiding anything," _he uttered darkly, his voice laced with danger. _"It is useless. I know what you are as much as you know what I am."_

The heaviness in the air suddenly changed to dreaded shock like the flip of a switch. So Roman Empire finished his statement.

"_You are nations."_

* * *

Alfred should have begun to get nervous as soon as the first search mission had ended in failure. But as it were, he was having far too much fun with Heanua and Arthur to find himself at all concerned about Japan and France. After all, the two could take care of themselves, right? And surely they would find him soon enough. They always had that annoying habit, anyway. Somehow. Miraculously.

Except for this time.

He had spent the first night with Heanua and England/Britannia, trying to get as much sleep as possible without worrying too much over his friends. Really, he knew he shouldn't have split up with them, but he had to! To save England. And surely that was worth the separation…?

Sad enough as it was to say, America wasn't quite sure yet.

Day two of searching came and went. There was still nothing. Day three passed. By this time, Alfred was seriously nervous. Did they leave him behind? Were they in trouble? What was going on?

Night gave way to the morning of the fourth day. Yet again, after searching everywhere, America returned to Heanua and Britannia's house after the sun had set, confused, anxious, nervous. He could not sleep that night, and by the time the sun rose on the fifth day, Alfred found himself near panicking. It had almost been a week.

Where _were _they...?

As they were, sitting together in Heanua's house, all three of them reclining and doing much of nothing, Alfred found himself completely lost in his troubling thoughts. What if he was stuck there, now, he couldn't help but think? What would happen to his people? What would happen to _himself_, if he could never eventually leave?

A sudden tug on the hem of his robes. Distracted from his thoughts, Alfred instinctively put on a smile, tilting his head downwards to see England, but England was looking at him with a frown upon his face, concern in his green eyes. Surprisingly stern.

As if Alfred were in trouble.

The blonde blinked, grin slowly fading away. "_What is it?"_

He was surprised when he felt a soft poke on the tip of his nose. _"You,"_ the little one said. He stared at Alfred for a moment longer, still frowning, before continuing. "_I am sorry we cannot find your friends. But please stop looking depressed. It is not..." _The frown intensified, as well as a slight blush; the blonde head turned away from him. "_...it does not look as good on you as a smile does..."_

It was a quite mumble, barely audible, but America somehow understood it. He grinned widely in response and could not resist enveloping little England in his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest as he cooed, "_Aw~! How sweet! You are so cute!"_

"_W-what? Let go of me! I am _not_ cute!"_

Heanua giggled from where she was sitting across the low table. "_I am afraid I must side with Mr. Spirit on this one, Britannia. You a_re_ rather adorable."_

_"No!"_ It was the pitiful wail of the outnumbered-but not the defeated, as little England so wanted to make himself clear with all of his pointless wiggling and squirming within America's grasp. It made him laugh, really.

Feeling much more jovial than he was a minute ago (it was a reoccurring incident America found himself going through the past few days, that he would begin to get depressed, and then the little one would come up to him, do a single, simple, harmless thing and suddenly make everything better somehow), Alfred held out his little five-year-old friend at arm's length, letting the child's feet dangle helplessly in the air as he observed him with a triumphant grin. He couldn't resist it. "_So. I win. You are cute."_

England huffed, his entire small face red like a bright cherry tomato. "_I am _not_! Stop calling me that!"_ Wildly he kicked, but it was to no avail.

America was just a _bit_ bigger and stronger than him, after all.

He chuckled again. "_I do not think I will..." _At seeing England's frustrated expression, he leaned forward, as if in a great conspiracy. "_And if I do not stop, then what will you do about it, hm?"_

"_I will kick you into oblivion!" _There was no hesitance. It only made America (and Heanua, watching on as she was) laugh harder. Apparently the strong faith and confidence in his legs' strength still hadn't faded over the many years.

"_Okay!"_ America grinned, feeling adventurous. Setting the boy down on his feet, he instantly jumped up and darted away into the house. "_So then...until you catch me, I will not stop calling you cute~!"_

_"W-what?"_

There was only a moment of indecision before England picked up his feet and dashed after the taller American, who ran off into the small house he already knew so well from having spent a few days there. He laughed over his shoulder, dashing into the bedrooms that were to the side, before running back out into the living/dining room, skirting around Heanua (effectively making her squeal and yell at them not to include her in their little games), and pausing on the other side of the cushions.

England was not far behind him, to his surprise (then again, the smaller nation had always been a little speedy and agile), and he only had a moment's rest before he was off again, racing to the bedrooms, circling it (while jumping on the low, straw-mattresses to successfully run the room's perimeter), and then dashing back out.

It was quite a pointless little game that continued for what seemed like hours after hours. But there was so much laughter reverberating through the entire household-much more laughter than there had ever been before-that it simply didn't matter.

For once, life was divine. And Alfred, quite honestly, couldn't find it in himself to care whether or not he made it back home-so long as this joyous feeling in his chest remained.

Still laughing, he looked over his shoulder at the source of all his fun; the little boy was still behind him, red in the face, but laughing. Smirking, despite the fact that his small chest was heaving as he tried to get air into his lungs from all that running and running...

Then all of a sudden-everything changed.

The boy's face paled.

The smile dropped.

Green eyes widened-_pain_ flashing somewhere inside.

And Alfred's world tilted dangerously when the boy suddenly gripped his chest, wincing-no cry emitted, strangely-as he stumbled backwards, shaking like a leaf. At that same instant, Alfred was suddenly aware of a distant sound he had not noticed before-the cheers, angry shouts of...of...what was that, an ambush? A riot?

Something was happening to Londinium.

To Arthur's _heart._

_Oh gosh._

Alfred ran forward, taking the little boy as gently as he could by his forearms, trying to look into his face. England felt so feverish! He was already breaking out in a sweat, trying to regain his breath back, but it couldn't work; the boy couldn't get enough air in-and oh, how Alfred could see he was hurting, the small boy's features scrunched up so tightly-he was going to hyperventilate-

"-_Britannia!"_ he cried, trying to get the boy's attention back on him. _Focus on me, buddy. Stay with me. "Britannia, what is going on? What hurts?"_

But he already knew, didn't he? That sound in the distance-there was no mistaking it now. It was the jeers and war cries of an army. The clash of swords, the stampeding of feet-they were safe, unaffected for the moment, now. But how long with that last before it came over to their side of the town?

And what about Japan and France...?

"_H...heart..."_ England muttered out, trying not to whimper. Trying to be strong. But he was shaking like a leaf; his small body wasn't used to this yet. He was only a province. "_My heart..."_

"_Do you know what is going on?"_ America brushed away the small boy's sweaty sandy-blonde bangs that were sticking to his forehead, and nearly winced. This child was burning up! "_Who is attacking you? Can you tell me?"_

England's green eyes clenched shut, probably trying to keep his tears at bay. He was still shaking so badly... _"F-fire...fire everywhere...!"_

And then he finally cried out, back arching to the pain, the boy crumbling inward on himself. America caught him with startled arms, holding the shaking boy close-as close as possible-to his chest. A vain attempt at trying to hide him from the forces that were indirectly attacking his body. But it wasn't working! What could he do? What could he do-?

"_Heanua!"_ He looked around desperately, finally finding her leaning out of one of the glassless windows, an awed expression on her tan face. "_Heanua, what is going on?"_

She didn't answer for a long moment, her gaze fixated on something in the distance with a mix between awe and horror. Fascination somewhere in her dark eyes, too. But when she did reply, it was so quiet he barely heard it.

"_It's my mother...she's finally come...Queen Boudicca finally come to save us...!"_

* * *

( "_You may not fully believe me when I tell you this..." _)

"You hear that?"

Both France and Japan lifted their heads from where they rested on straw mattresses in their 'prison' (an abandoned room of Roman Empire's estate in Londinium), straining their ears to try and hear better the sounds coming from outside. There was one window in the entire room, and even then, it was pretty narrow. Hardly ever let any proper light in, and didn't have all that entertaining a view over the streets of Londinium.

( "_...but I assure you it's the truth."_)

However, in this case scenario...

Francis crawled over and peered over the windowsill, intending to just get a quick glance. But what he saw in that split-second caught his attention and kept his eyes trained on the action on the streets, complete awe-and shock-written on his handsome features. The transformation seized Japan's attention, and instantly, the smaller man crawled over to the window as well.

As he did so, he briefly recounted how they had been actually a fortunate pair of prisoners while under Roman Empire's watch. The man hadn't attacked them, only questioned them-and that was only the first day, when he had _time_ to interrogate them. The next day, he had to leave. Something about an island of Druids he was going to attack...but apparently, under his orders to his servants, the two were supposed to receive food (and they did, although minimally-something France complained about to no end) and were allowed occasional bathroom breaks.

So they were...okay. But not really, considering they had been stuck in the same time for who-knew-how-many-days (for it was hard to keep track while locked up in a room), and they seriously needed to hurry up and move on so they could get home (who knew what was happening in their absence?).

But Japan had more pressing concerns to worry about, he saw, as he peered out the window at France's side.

He paled considerably at the sight.

( "_Yes, we are nations..."_ )

"It's on fire...why?" he murmured, turning to France with expectancy in his eyes. This European, who was so close to England, should know, right? Why all this chaos? Why all this dying? What revolt was being lead? And by whom?

But when blue eyes met equally-as-confused brown, Japan found himself surprised. So Francis _didn't_ know.

Well...that certainly helped matters.

( _"...but we are _future _nations." _)

Loud footsteps-coming from behind them.

France and Japan abruptly turned around, finding themselves face-to-face with one of their guards. He was sweating-was that ash on his armor?-and smelled of a repulsive mixture of smoke and blood on him; he had an equally intimidating glare on his face to boot.

But it was with great shock that Japan saw the item in the man's hand.

His Blackberry.

( "_We are from the future."_ )

And when the guard was only a few steps away, Japan was even more surprised to find the object suddenly thrust into his face. Even without any words being said, he could understand that enough to mean, '_Take it. I want it out of my sight.'_

But in case he didn't understand, the man spoke anyway, France murmuring the translation into his ear. "_Take it and do what you can to leave. My commander told me that should anything happen, this was what was supposed to be done. So leave us, strange ones, and make sure to never return."_

"...like we need to be told _that_ twice," France added at the end of his translation, scoffing quietly.

But Japan nodded anyway and took the Blackberry back with great care, a grateful look upon his face. The guard only nodded briefly, curtly, and then left as quickly and loudly as he came.

There was a moment of pause between the two nations, before they realized they were free. Before they realized that after five long days crowded in a room, they could leave. _And_ it was probably vitally important that they did so soon, considering Londinium was under attack and the fire could reach them at any moment now.

It only took one glance before they both hightailed it out of there.

(_"...yes, I hate to say it, but...everything hinges on what you will do, every single second of every single day, Sir Roman Empire. So I kindly suggest you do not hurt us." _)

* * *

The fire was everywhere.

America could hardly believe his eyes as he gazed upon the whole of Londinium, a safe distance away by then from the disaster. 70,000 dead. _70,000 dead._ And all because of that one woman behind him...

Speaking of her, he could feel the hearty clap of a hand on his shoulder at that moment, appropriately timed. He didn't need to be told who it was. He had met her before, but even then, turning around to face her as he did, he couldn't help but be unnerved by her. She was around his height (tall for a woman), and had fiery red-brown hair pulled back in two braids against her back, past her waist. Her tartan cloak rustled in the wind that blew by them (bringing with it the stench of smoke and ash-and death).

But her proud grin was a mile wide. Intimidating, just like the rest of her. "_I must thank you,"_ she said to him in broken Latin. She seemed to spit out the words almost as if they were pure vinegar in her mouth, the language as unfamiliar and unfavorable to her as crystallized honey. "_For taking great care of both my daughter, _and _my country. I owe you a great deal."_

America cleared his throat, nodding briefly to her. "_I...took great pleasure in it. You do not owe me anything."_ And indeed, part of Alfred simply said that for fear of what she would consider 'repayment.' A butchered cow?

She looked like she could rip the head off of a lion with her bare hands. Yet the Queen's smile still remained even as she tilted her head to the side curiously, her gaze softening just the slightest. _"Modesty will get you nowhere, my good boy. As surely as my name is Queen Boudicca, allow me to thank you somehow-for truthfully, you have done me a large favor. And although I may not be good with showing my gratitude, I _do _sincerely mean it. I doubt that my daughter and Britannia would have come away as unscathed and safely as they did if you had not been there."_

_If you had not been there..._

America swallowed. _Ha ha...funny story,_ he wanted to say.

But really. Alfred couldn't help but toy with the idea; what happened in all actuality? Without him there...how did Heanua and Arthur get away? There was no way the little island nation could have walked after the initial attack. Even when they fled earlier, America had to carry him away from the city. He was still too weak, and in far too much pain to do such a thing. So did that mean that Heanua carried him?

Well, nonetheless, whatever actually happened...it didn't anymore.

Alfred braced himself. He really w_as_ going to get in so much trouble once he reunited with Kiku and Francis...wasn't he?

_If_ he ever reunited with them.

The American, at that thought, shook his head firmly, warranting himself from such depressing thoughts. He would find them. Of that, he was certain; either that, or _they_ would simply find _him. _Somehow. Miraculously.

Like they always did.

But for the moment, he had other things to worry about, and for once, he was going to _focus_ on them and not get distracted. Or at least, try not to. "_By the way...is Britannia feeling any better? May I see him, if that is all right with you?"_ It always helped to be polite-especially to this monstrosity of a woman who could apparently lead an army of 80,000 Britons with a little more than words.

It worked. She smiled again at him; bright and happy...but not like the sun. Somehow, it reminded him of melted, greasy butter, instead... "_Definitely!_" Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she once again clapped a hand on his back, leading him around as they went back to the temporary camp her soldiers had set up for the night as they rested before heading to the midlands, where they had heard Paulinus' troops would meet them in an all-out battle the following day. "_Last I heard, he was sleeping, but in all honesty, I find that hard to believe." _Boudicca had a twinkle in her hard eyes as she murmured to him, "_He is a resilient little fellow. As we all are."_

America cracked a smile. _"Of that, I am well aware,"_ he responded carefully, allowing himself to be led around until they finally came upon a small bundle of blankets nearby a fire. He could see the little nation himself, eyes closed, resting. Breathing _easily._

It was such a relief that Alfred let out a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding as he neared him.

He felt a small pat on his back-much gentler than the other two the queen had delivered him before-and a soft whisper nearby his ear, murmuring to him, "_I will allow you two some time alone. But do not keep him up too long; we need him rested, now that we have him back. With him healthy and strong, perhaps we can win this war."_

America turned to catch one last glance at the woman-Boudicca, the great revered leader of her time-and smiled at her. She nodded back to him as she turned around and began to walk away, her back straight with the pride Alfred had seen England walk with a thousand times before.

He could see now where Arthur had got it from.

With a chuckle and a shrug, he then knelt down beside the small, sandy-blonde haired boy, shaking his shoulder very lightly. Very gently. So as not to hurt him anymore than he had been earlier (and still must be; the fire was still raging, as far as he could see, although the killing had long since stopped). _"Britannia..._Britannia..."

There was a small moan, and the sound of shifting blankets as little England adjusted himself. Then-finally-the green eyes opened tiredly, blearily. For a moment, they simply stared forward into the fire, perhaps waiting until their owner was completely awake before darting about.

And then, when they did and they landed on Alfred, and he could see the surprise in Arthur's green eyes. The miniscule widening of the eyelids, and the small parting of cracked lips. "_You are...still here...?"_ he asked hoarsely, quietly, his mouth barely moving.

America smiled gently, moving from a squat to resting on his knees as he hovered above the boy. Oh, how this reminded him of what England would do for him whenever he was sick; sitting there patiently, always nearby, and most importantly, always with love in his eyes. Patience. Understanding. Emotions that America found he sorely wanted to see again in those emerald eyes. He swallowed before answering, "_Yes. I am still here. How do you feel?"_

A sigh. The boy seemed to almost deflate into the ground with that single movement. _"...not...good,"_ he muttered after a long pause. Perhaps a moment of self-evaluation.

_"Feeling sick?"_ America asked with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

Britannia wriggled a little bit deeper into his covers, perhaps a subconscious attempt at hiding himself from the American's x-ray like gaze. "_Perhaps..."_

There was an awkward, quiet silence between them after that. But for Alfred, it was more of an instant-inner-debate-session. He frowned to himself a moment, thinking-thinking carefully-regarding his words (oh, how England would be proud of him for that single action! Ha ha!), because really, what could he say that wouldn't mess up the future? And America most definitely had something he sorely, sorely wanted to tell the little island nation, and tell him _now_ to perhaps change who he would be in the future. To _help_ him.

But would it hurt him...?

He didn't know, but with a bite of the lip, he finally decided-ah, to heck with it. It was just a little thing, anyway, so let the consequences be what they may.

...right?

"Er..._Britannia,"_ he called, wincing when he saw he might have rewoken-up the little tyke who looked like he may have started falling asleep again in the ensuing silence. Once the green eyes were (a tad annoyed, they seemed) on him again, he continued quietly, "_You do not have to...hide how you feel, all right? At least..." _Here he sighed before continuing. "..._at the very least,_ _not to me."_

England's thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was a long pause for a long moment as the boy stared at him, before he suddenly shifted slightly under his blankets, finally turning _away_ from the blonde-haired American, and almost burrowing his face into the ground beneath him. "_Sure, sure...whatever you say."_

America blinked instantly. W-what? Wait! Distressed with how easily he was blown off, the older one leaned forward insistently, having a hard time refraining from simply reaching out to physically grab the stubborn boy and make him listen to him. That, he most certainly, couldn't do, but...! But still! "_W-wait, Britannia, I need you to take me seriously-!"_

_"-if it at all matters to you, Sir Spirit, I am rather tired."_ England did not look at him as he spoke, green eyes closed firmly, face barely visible above the blankets. "_So if you would, could your idea please wait until morning?"_

Silence. The pure, awful, tense kind of silence. The kind where both parties are unsure what to do, other than wait, wait, and hold their breaths.

And then, all it took was a resigned, if frustrated, sigh. "_Sure...sure. Whatever you say."_

But unknowingly to America even as he hesitantly pushed himself up to his sandaled feet and trudged away, England would actually stay up late that night. The words spoken earlier, simple as they were, spinning and weaving curiously through his head, bouncing off like a broken tape recorder locked inside his brain, as he tried to make sense of what was right and what was wrong in a case scenario such as the one he had been presented with.


	9. Life Happens

**Crystal's Notes:** We're gonna try something different! 8D How about we have FAQ and review-responses up here, and then history notes at the bottom of the chappie? x3 Does that sound good, my darling readers?

To answer the many, many questions I have received on this issue..._yes._ Take heart, lovely people. We WILL encounter Pirate!Arthur in our many travels across the history of England. 83 I've finally decided a point where this story will end, but it will be _after_ Pirate!Arthur gets his chance to shine. xD No worries there!

And all you guys are honestly so nice. ;.; I'm SO SO SO glad so many of you enjoy it! I have SUCH a fun time writing it and learning on my end, too! 8D So I'm glad it's all mutual! x3 How about we share some glasses of lemonade? (passes some out)

And Clozzie, just because you are a dear (and no, you TOTALLY did not waste my time! xD If anything, you AMPLIFIED it! You're so sweet!), I decided to sit myself down and update this today.

Here's to you, Clozzie. :)

* * *

"_Are you ready?"_

It was a silly question to ask, considering that no matter _how_ ready he felt, the battle would go on, anyway. That no one probably would take to heart the unease of a spirit who wasn't even going to participate in the fight in the first place. So when America looked down to the little boy at his side, looking up at him with determined, excited green eyes, he merely shrugged lightly, inhaling as he looked away briefly, and down to the landscape that was about to become filled with blood.

"_Uh..._" he began, swallowing. _"Yeah." _He nodded, clearly uncertain, but purposefully speaking the opposite of his facial expression (for no particular reason, really). "_Sure." _Why not? "_I am as ready as they come."_

Little England seemed to somehow sense his caution, and smirked at him, his small posture practically _oozing_ of confidence. If only America could have some of that right now...a strange thing to think, really, because, well hey, he's _America_, but he supposed heroes every now and then could have a confidence-deficieny... "_I will not make the same mistake as my brother, Sir Spirit," _Britannia said firmly._ "We will win this, I assure you...right, Boudicca?"_

The crazy red-brown-haired woman herself, in a chariot beside them, grinned as she briefly turned to look at them. "_That we will. The gods have been on our side thus far, granting us victory with all the Romans we have faced. Perhaps it is because your friend is just a lucky charm."_

America chuckled nervously (he could _swear_ he felt a sweatdrop somewhere on the back of his head, like the kind Japan's anime had), even as England turned to him with a trusting grin. _Er...lucky charm? S-sure! Sure, I'll be a lucky charm..._

Now if only he knew his history better to know the outcome of this battle.

But somehow, even as he saw Roman Empire come forth on his own horse, trotting back and forth in front of his troops, all of them itching to charge and attack, he had a feeling he already knew who would win. After all, those who had been winning the entire time...usually had a habit of winning again...

Although the fact that it looked like the Britons far outnumbered the Romans was an advantage.

_And_ his very own history, well, kind of was a testimony to the fact that that principle didn't always hold true...

America watched, vaguely interested at first, as Roman Empire apparently and finally found whatever it was he was looking for. The man's blue eyes narrowed as they landed upon England, and although it was nothing to be alarmed at upon first glance, the way he suddenly straightened, and then his face darkened into a scowl made America feel uneasy. But Britannia, if anything, straightened himself just the tinniest bit more in pride, or in defiance, at seeing that.

Then the blue eyes fell upon_ him_.

And at the way they widened in sudden realization, America had no doubt that somehow, for some reason, even though they were so far away from each other, Roman Empire knew _exactly _what he was. Somehow. Miraculously.

Crap.

But before anything else could happen, the command from Rome's leader-Suetonius, he remembered the man's name was-and Queen Boudicca as well, was finally given.

"_Charge_!"

The tension broke like a rubber band pulled too tautly. The soldiers on both sides were almost _too _eager to go and fight-and indeed, even though all the Britons, in their mighty numbers, couldn't fit into the narrow clearing at once, nearly all of them were crawling over each other to get their share of Roman blood.

It would be a tiring battle. But hey! All America had to do was...not die.

And somehow find Japan and France.

Easy...right?

* * *

England was pretty sure by now that the minute America, Japan, and France returned to their time period, he'd steal Germany's gun that the man always had on him and use it to shoot all three of them. Repeatedly.

Especially the bespectacled one.

But as it were, Arthur was downright sick. Ill. Bedridden, as ordered by China, because they couldn't trust the nation to walk around his own house anymore; not with people messing with his past at such random , sporadic intervals, making him black out in random places, and sometimes, nearly hurting himself further.

It had nearly been a week. And Arthur didn't feel any better. Nor did it sound like the three missing countries were any closer to getting back.

Although that was merely a guess, because they hadn't been able to contact them in several days.

But still.

England opened his eyes as he heard his bedroom door open. There stood Germany, his back straight and rigid as ever, as if he were reporting to his commander instead of a sickly rival-country (which, now that England thought about it, was strange to refer to him as one; they had been getting along rather well these last couple days...). What was he here about, again? Oh yes...recent news...

The sandy-blonde pushed himself up to a sitting position, sighing in relief at finding it wasn't as hard as it had been at previous times. Perhaps nothing new had happened just yet? _That_ was a good thing. "What have you?" he asked quietly.

Germany sighed. "Good news. So far, Japan, France, and America are the same as they have been ever since Alfred, Kiku and Francis left. There are no changes in economy, laws, stability, or government. Except for, of course..." Here he sighed again, this time more heavily. "...except for, of course, what's 'trending now' on internet search engines as Italy and Canada have somehow found out."

England blinked. "Italy and who...?"

Oh. Wait. Canada. Right.

Shaking his head and clearing his throat, the shorter one dismissed his own previous question and asked a different one hurriedly, "Never mind. What so happens to be 'trending,' then?"

"You."

England blinked in shock, and Germany continued, taking the surprised silence as an invitation to go on and explain. "Which, it is no surprise. America, France, and Japan are learning about you. So, so are their respective people. You and your history has become a newfound interest for people around the world." At that, Germany chuckled. "Perhaps you should thank them once they return, instead of so quickly killing them as you keep swearing you'll do. This will help your tourism, after all."

"Like it needs any bloody help after the royal wedding," England muttered quickly in retort, looking away. But he couldn't help but admit it silently to himself, however, back in the recesses of his mind-people were genuinely looking up his history? His people's past, his land's experiences?

Such thoughts (no matter how seemingly pleasant) brought an awkward feeling to the blonde that he wasn't accustomed to having. A sense of...importance he hadn't been used having to since the second world war. He cleared his throat. "And what about my own people? Have there been any changes?"

"Actually..." Germany at first trailed off, before picking up his voice again. "...there have not. That is the odd thing. As much as you seem to be in pain, the entirety of your people aren't."

Well, that was good. In fact, great. But still... "Why do you suppose that is?"

Germany crossed his arms over his chest, a contemplative look crossing his strong face. "Matthew had an idea. He said it might be because what Kiku, Francis, and Alfred have been interfering with so far isn't necessarily key events in _England's_ history...but _Arthur's_."

Ah...well, now that Arthur thought about it, that much was true. If he really concentrated, he could find that he remembered the git; images would flash through his mind of experiences he knew he didn't have before, but somehow felt so...real. As if they w_ere_ meant to happen. But that was preposterous, because he had gotten along just fine without the idiot messing up his history before.

Perhaps it was just because now that he had apparently "grown up" with those incidents, it all seemed to work together.

Lost deeply in these thoughts, England nearly jumped in surprise when Germany's breath hitched unexpectedly. He didn't even get the chance to turn and ask what was wrong when all of a sudden he heard a concerned, "Arthur...are you..._crying_?" from the same blonde-haired man at his bedside.

What? Shocked, England raised a pale, shaking - wow, suddenly he felt all..._weird _inside - hand to his face, touching his cheek.

And there it was. The lingering pathway of a single tear.

"I..." England tried to speak, shocked. He pulled away his hand, staring at the wetness that had gathered there on his fingers. "N-no..." But even then, he could feel another tear break free of his eye and begin its descent downwards to his chin. A sort of hollowness enveloped his chest. He swallowed. Well, there was no denying the obvious now.

But why was he...?

"Ludwig," he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak fully. "Would you...grant me solitude for a few minutes?"

The German - bless him; he had been acting far more kindly throughout this ordeal than was normal for these two to be towards each other - nodded briefly, bowing just slightly in farewell before turning and exiting the bedroom.

It was then, after he heard the click of the door as it shut, that Arthur rolled over and allowed himself to be purely human, grieving quietly and yet so fully and completely, for a reason he couldn't yet understand.

* * *

Everything was going wrong.

The Britons couldn't decide on a plan of attack - they more or less were fighting with each other far more than they were the Romans - and in the heat and confusion of battle, were falling like flies. Thousands lay dead, littering the ground with their blood and bodies. The stench was nearly overwhelming; the sight gruesome.

Oh, and the worst part? America had lost little Britannia.

By now, the Roman forces were winning. They were beginning to capture the leftover Briton soldiers, and killing the ones that tried to run away.

This was bad. Very, very bad. People were running everywhere - "_Where is Queen Boudicca?"_ - either trying to flee or trying to fight and die nobly for their cause - "_Where is Queen Boudicca?"_ - or, apparently, trying to find their missing leader...

Er...wait. _Wait_! He knew that voice!

America abruptly turned around. "_Britannia!_"

There the little boy was; as soon as he heard his name being called, he turned around, green eyes wide, nervous - panicked. He was losing. He could tell. And every one of his men that fell, so too did he ache a bit inside. But as soon as those eyes fell upon his spirit friend, he visibly relaxed, if only slightly. He began running. "Amicus! Amicus, _where is my queen? Where is she?"_ Fear and a little bit of desperation laced those words.

America looked around, but it was difficult to see anybody or anything in the chaos all around them. He shook his head, swallowing. "_I...do not know...I do not see her..."_

"Alfred!"

America's back straightened. Oh gosh...could it...could it really _be_? Was...was reality _serious_? After all this time -

Turning around, America's eyes saw that his ears truly didn't deceive him. It really _was_ - finally! - Japan and France. The two were dashing towards him at nearly breakneck speeds, faces red, and chests heaving, strangely unruly hair (for the two always did take very good care of themselves) flying about their cheeks.

In Japan's hand was his Blackberry, screen on.

America's breath hitched with that realization, as did England's behind him. Turning to the little boy at his side, he saw the child gazing at something with wide eyes, fixated on something that must have been horrible, for he looked utterly...broken. Absolutely astonished, horrified, and...and so _sad_.

And then, without warning, Arthur took off.

America didn't hesitate.

Despite how badly he wanted to return with France and Japan as soon as possible so that they didn't become prisoners of the infamous Roman Empire, he found he couldn't just leave...not yet, at least. Not without seeing what England was so distressed about (although he certainly had a good idea as to what it could be) and somehow...trying to help.

"Alfred! Alfred, what are you _doing_? _Arrête_!"

How he wanted them to understand! _What if it was Gaul, France?_ He wanted to say. _What if it was China? What if it was your mentor that you had known your entire life...but never truly _known?

But when he finally caught up with England who had stopped running, America felt his heart plummet to his bare feet, and wish...wish so dearly that he hadn't chased after his father figure after all.

He could still remember what it was like when Washington died. When Jefferson and Adams died on his birthday, fifty years after they had finally gained independence. He could remember how _awful_ and _saddening_ it was to have a leader die - and at such a young age, too. When the nation was practically a newborn. He had been an adult, really, then. But he had grown so fast in such a short amount of time, that inside, he was still practically a child just making his way through the world. Still he felt so young when one by one, his 'founding fathers' passed away...

But for England...

The child fell on his knees, unbelieving of the sight before him. And in truth, Alfred could hardly believe it either. It hardly seemed real, and it garnered so many questions - what had happened? Why...why was the queen, and her two daughters - both of them! Lannosea and - and...Heanua..._Heanua..._

Memories flashed through Alfred's head of the girl. Bright, happy. Bruised, but kind. Motherly. Oh, how she had loved her nation...how she had cared for him! Her laughter had been just like her mother's. Robust and shocking, coming from a girl so frail, and so hurt by the Romans. It...it seemed so _unfair..._seeing her now, lifeless, still, wrapped in one of her mother's arms as all three lay unmoving.

Dead.

And the oddest thing was that Britannia hadn't said a word.

"Alfred!" A tug on his arm-a tug he barely felt, for the longer he stared, the more shocked he was at the entire bizarre scene. He felt himself be pulled backwards a few steps, but he barely noticed. "Alfred, what are you doing? We need to go! Now!"

He nodded slightly - half-aware of his response, but yet knowing that it was the right thing. No matter...no matter how much he didn't want to...no matter how much he wanted to just shake England into giving a _normal reaction_ to a loved one's death. No matter how much he wanted to check and see in the vain hope that maybe the three were still alive, and were just acting. Perhaps they were just unconscious...

"We're going now, Alfred! Hang on!"

The last thing America remembered seeing of the first century was the sight of England reaching out with a shaking hand, and weakly grasping the cold one of Heanua.

Then all went white.

* * *

With a gasp and a stumble, all three nations fell to the ground in a heap in their new time period. It was a moment before any one wanted to move, and when they finally did, it was with several apologies and grunts as they tried to untangle their limbs from each other.

But when they finally stood up, all three simply looked at each other.

It had been a week.

A _week _since they last saw each other.

But sadly, all America could bring himself to say first to them was a hard swallow and a regretful, "Sorry I can't be...happier to see you guys..." He sniffed a little and looked away, pulling his glasses out of a pocket in his robes and slipping them on. He had been getting a headache from not wearing them. At the silence to his apology, he then added hesitantly, "Although I _am_ glad to see you - "

" - _what happened_?" That was the first thing out of France's mouth. America looked at his friend as the blonde continued, "I mean...who _were_ those people you and England were looking at?"

America sighed and reached up with a hand to scratch the back of his head. "Hard to...explain. But while I couldn't find you guys, I was staying with England and - "

" - you _stayed_ with him?"

Alfred frowned, hand dropping to his side. "Yeah, I did, but - "

" - Alfred, what have we _told_ you about this?" Francis seemed incensed. Rather odd for the normally patient, rubber-like man who wouldn't let anything get to him. His blue eyes were fierce and oddly parental as he glared at the younger nation. "You can't interact with Arthur at all! You could do serious damage - "

" - well, it's a bit late for _that_ now, isn't it?" America almost hissed back. Why was France so angry about this? Shouldn't, if anything, the Frenchman be happy that they're at least finally _reunited_ and can continue time-hopping until they reached home? "Look, if it's the fact that I couldn't find you for a week, I'm _sorry_ but I swear Heanua, Arthur and I turned Londinium inside out trying to find you! It's not our fault!"

"Francis," Japan finally spoke up, holding out a hand. "He's right. We _were_ practically in a situation where he could never have found us."

France threw up his hands. "It doesn't matter! Alfred, you - "

But the American was hardly paying attention to his European friend. He, instead, watched the Asian man curiously (by far the one who was going to be easier to communicate with at the moment), asking, "Where _were_ you guys, anyway?"

Kiku sighed. "Roman Empire arrested us, I think on the premise that if he held us hostage, he could eventually get _you _to come out of hiding and punish _you_ appropriately for what you did." The black-haired man then shook his head. "But he never was able to properly search for you. He had to leave the next day for Anglesey, and simply told his guards to be on the look-out for you."

America blinked. "So you guys...were prisoners?"

"No," France scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "We were - "

" - I don't want sass at the moment, Francis!" America interrupted heatedly, knowing what he was going to say.

"Look who's talking!" The arms fell, and France looked about ready to take a step forward and challenge his younger friend to a fist-fight. "If you don't want sass, then practice what you preach, _mon cher_!"

Alfred was almost ready to agree to his silent terms and begin duking it out, when instead something caught the corner of his eye. Turning quickly to see what it was (for his eyes couldn't really be playing tricks on him now, now that he had Texas on, right?), he felt his body suddenly go rigid with recognition of the small figure sitting in the shadow of a huge stone wall that stretched across the landscape.

He vaguely wondered how he didn't see it before, but he supposed that was because he had been focused on the two partners he had that he had been separated from instead of anything else.

He turned to Japan quickly. "Kiku, where are we?"

The Japanese quickly opened the app, waited for it to load, and then responded, "Northern England. Around the Scotland border. 152 A.D."

Wow. _That_ was a little less than a hundred years from their last time period. Alfred's eyes scanned the huge wall again. "And what is _that_...?"

"Hadrian's Wall, I presume," came the curt mutter from the Frenchman, who had his arms crossed over his chest again, still looking rather miffed. "If I remember correctly, it was begun in 122 under Emperor Hadrian's orders - hence the name. It took a little over thirty years to complete...so I am not surprised we are seeing an almost-finished one now."

America nodded, his blue eyes finally floating down to the small figure, clad in a white robe, still sitting in a large expanse of green grass, eyes trained on the top of the giant wall. It took him a minute - a small time period of his own to debate with himself - but finally, once the decision was made, Alfred found himself subconsciously taking a few steps forward, his body almost working on its own accord.

France was on him in an instant. "What do you think you're doing?" the man hissed, gripping America's forearm firmly in his hand. Tightly. So much so, that his fingers were almost turning white from the pressure.

But Alfred was strangely calm as he turned to the other blonde and slid his glasses off with his other hand, stuffing them back in his robe-pocket. "Something I need to do," was all he simply said. Plain. To the point. And yet vague enough he hoped to get away with it.

He should have known better.

"What do you _mean_?" Another hiss, another heated glare. "There's nothing you _need_ to do here. You're fooling yourself, you imbecile! Stop trying to mess everything up - !"

" - I'm not trying to mess everything up!" America glared back, frowning. "Honestly, Francis, stop this. I _realize_ it's bad I'm talking to him - but I've already done that. The good thing is he doesn't know who I am yet. I'll...I'll do something about that, because I _know _it will cause problems once he sees the real me in a few centuries. I really will, okay? But just...just let me talk to him this time." He tried not to sound like he was pleading, but some part of Alfred assured himself that he really did need to do this. "I just...I gotta talk to him, Francis. Please."

France, although not saying anything for once, still glared at him, not trusting. So America continued. "You don't understand because you haven't seen him like I have this entire time. You didn't get to know who he was as a child in a week. _I did._ And that battle that happened around a hundred years ago...Boudicca's rebellion? That..." He took a breath. "...that changed him. Because not only did his queen and his best friend die...but now _I_ left him, too."

_His supposed lucky charm. His guardian spirit._ All those other things England called him...had been unfounded in that single moment now a hundred years ago. That moment when the little one must have turned around, expecting to find comfort from his one remaining friend - and finding no one, because Japan and France had wisely chosen to escape just prior to that.

He didn't blame the two. America really didn't. But it wasn't...the perfect plan.

When France opened his mouth to supposedly lecture him again, America quickly spoke up. "Please. I know...you don't like it. I know you don't. But I really...really need to talk to him."

A tense silence.

But after what seemed like forever, the grip on his forearm finally loosened. Just a smidge. "After this," Francis began, watching America carefully. "After this, no more. You will not speak to this Arthur again. You _can't_. Understood?"

Another silence.

But one that shattered when America finally shook his head after a long thoughtful glance. "I can't promise you that, Francis," he finally answered. A small, hesitant grin spread on his face. "After all, life just happens, right?"

Life happens.

Francis glared, and opened his mouth to force the stubborn American to obey, but there was nothing he could do once Alfred finally pulled away from his grasp with a forceful jerk and began to walk away. He stared in shock at the back of his blonde friend for a moment, before growling out loudly, "Alfred! Get back here!" No response. Still the younger one walked away, annoyingly enough. "You can't - !"

But Kiku's hand on his shoulder made him stop. "Francis," the Japanese began, stilling the Frenchman with his voice. "You're going to draw attention to us. Why don't we sit and wait quietly for Alfred to return? Then...once we've found an isolated place, you may lecture him to your heart's desire. All right?"

France glared at the Asian, seemingly about ready to gang up on him, too. But after a long moment of barely-maintained silence, he finally and heavily sighed, running a hand through his long blonde hair. A groan passed through his lips. "What's the use? He wouldn't listen anyway..."

Japan grinned, shrugging and letting his hand fall back to his side. "No. Probably not. But we know who he got that trait from, don't we?"

A shared glance to the small figure America was walking towards.

"_Oui,_" France sighed. "We do, indeed."

* * *

**History Notes:** K. 8D Here we go. Boudicca's rebellion! Pretty self-explanatory. Although there's been varying accounts of exactly _how_ Boudicca and her daughters died during that battle, there's a rumor that she purposefully had her daughters and her drink poison once they saw they were losing, because Boudicca didn't want them to fall to the hands of the Romans again (kind of understandable...but still sad! ;.; ).

Hadrian's Wall - Well, Emperor Hadrian was quite unlike the previous Roman emperors before him. 83 He didn't think the empire should expand its territories so much, and should actually, on the flip side, take better care of what it did have. So the wall he ordered be built nearby the Scotland border to England was to mark the end of the Roman Empire's territory. I think it was a rather smart idea, although we'll delve more into those details next chapter...x3 Because I want to.

And well...contrary to what I had planned, I doubt we'll be out of the Roman era by chapter 10. xD;;; DARN YOU CONSTANTIUS AND ALL I'M SUDDENLY LEARNING ABOUT YOU! WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTING? (shake fist)

...this will be one long haul. xD; Not that you guys already know that. THANKS SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH ME THUS FAR. Will you stick with me through to the end?

And btw, now that it's summer, I do hope to be updating more frequently. 8D SO STAY TUNED! I love you all so much! Do enjoy your lemonade and have a great day!

Oh...and review? 8D;;


	10. Friend of England, Revisited

**Crystal's Notes:** Anyone else hate it when I say, "Oh! I will try updating sooner, now!" And then I come across writer's block and have the _hardest_ time figuring out what all I can fit in a chapter without making it too...full? Yeah, I hate that, too. Dx

I apologize for taking so long with this. I hope you guys like it anyway. But now that I look again at all the reviews you guys have given me for the last chapter...oh my gosh, this is a really lousy way to say a thank you. ;.; We've hit 80 reviews? WE'VE HIT 80 REVIEWS! OMGSH I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Now to address you all. 8D

ThE-faInTinG-faNGirl, you are such a dearie. :) You don't understand how much I mean that, but it's true. It means SO MUCH to me that you've been a faithful little reviewer and have been reading not only this story, but _From Me to You_, too. You are so wonderful!

WHICH REMINDS ME - SHAMELESS PLUGGING TIME. Because I have like, no room in here whatsoever to include exactly how the Britannia-Roman relationship changed over the years (and nonetheless, the story awesome Constantius), I created a separate story for those historical details. And that is, _From Me to You_! So if any of you are...like, interested, I wouldn't mind if you read it. 8D; Harhar...I'm awful.

Thank you, TheBadlyNamedUser, Clozzie, and lol! And you, too, Hana1225. xD Although I suppose now we'll have to figure out a way to get unglued...because it'd be awkward having to go to the restroom at the same time. But thank you for the three of you for assuring me you'll stick through to the end. :) You are all superb. Those words mean so much.

Forgetting I said that previous awkward comment about restrooms...

Nekoalley, lol! You have some good ideas! And sweetness4theheart, I hope this chapter satisfies you. xD At least somewhat. I apologize for Alfred's...stubbornness and irritating...ness. Although I guess that's part of what makes my home country my home country...in a weird way. xD

Empress Vegah, thank you very much! I'm so glad you like this story! Thank you for all three of your kind reviews you gave me. :) I say this a lot - but it's all true! Your kind words mean so much to me! Reviews like yours are what make me refuse to put this story on hiatus just because of a dumb thing like writer's block. xD

And lastly, for Verschwinden, Loudheart14 (and which, dearie, I completely understand about the exams thing :) ), Jet Set Radio Yoyo, Rennasakura, Trumpet-Geek, and The silverpumpkin, here is finally the next update!

* * *

_"England! England!"_

_Tiny footsteps dashing across the dock, getting louder as they neared. The summoned country lifted his head from watching the wood as he passed across it, grin spreading on his face as he finally saw the young one whom he had come to visit again. It always served to brighten his spirits seeing America, anyway._

_The child truly did have the most beautiful smile._

_"Alfred," he chided as he squatted, holding the child out at arm's length - a torture, really, because he could tell the little one wanted to hug him in greeting and latch on to his side and never let go until he had to pry him off in a wrestling game like they always played. And in which, he always won. "How many times must I tell you? My human name is _Arthur_. People will get suspicious if you call me by my country name."_

_"But I like saying England...now that I can pronounce my 'l's properly." The frown in the child's face was pitying, yet absolutely adorable. England shook his head, and the child, distressed, continued, "Are you not glad, though? I finally mastered the phoenix! I - "_

_Laughing, Arthur patted the bed of wheat-blonde hair in front of him. "Yes, I am _very_ proud, my boy. But it is 'phonics.' You may be doing well speaking, but your vocabulary still needs some work. Else you will be saying malopropisms all day."_

_"What's...what's a mal-oh-pro - "_

_" - worry yourself not about it. Forget I uttered the word."_

_Alfred snickered, his shoulders shaking with the movement. He couldn't restrain himself any longer, though. "So...can I hug you now?"_

_A sigh - but not exasperated. For some reason, Arthur could never stop smiling at the boy. "It is 'may I,' and yes. I do believe you deserve that much. Come here, luv."_

_The wide arms were accepted greedily from the young boy, who launched himself into the embrace and latched his own pair of much smaller arms around the broad chest of his caretaker. But even as he did so, he could tell - Arthur had gotten a few new scars. His skin felt uneven, with the dips and jagged edges of sword bites and burns. Possibly musket fire, too. Bullets could leave nasty dents in a nation's skin - not that America knew from experience. He just knew from seeing the aftermath._

_He was about to comment on it, really; tiny red lips parting to inquire about what new battle had taken place and why - was it that awful Frenchman again? - and if England was okay - when a part of much larger, thin lips were placed against his forehead very gently. A very tender, soft kiss that left him shocked._

_"That's a thank you, luv. Just for being my little friend."_

* * *

"_Hello."_

The sandy-blonde haired child, clothed in a dark green cloak that covered his white Roman robes jumped in surprise (he knew that voice!) before turning around hurriedly, his hands pushing himself around, clenching the grass like a lifeline. (_Could it really be? After all this time, suddenly - ?_) And sure enough.

There, behind him, healthy, fine, just like he remembered him last, was that elusive spirit.

It's hard to say exactly what emotions crowded throughout Britannia at that point, bunched up and mingling into intermittent bunches throughout his veins. There was happiness and relief. Anger, also. Betrayal. Never-ending questions. Hurt.

And yet a sense of...something else. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it certainly wasn't negative. That much was certain.

_Laughter as they played in the open fields with the Celts. Oh, how he remembered that night so well, too, lying underneath the stars._

_He had left then, as well. Without a word. Without warning. When he had looked up at him, curiously, peering and asking for an answer, wondering where he was going, the spirit hadn't uttered anything. He had just left. _

Britannia gave him his back, bringing his knees back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them in a decided fashion. "_What are you doing here?"_ he asked as unfriendly as he could. As coldly as possible. But even then, his voice betrayed him, for he didn't sound as nearly as harsh as he wanted to, or as nearly as unforgiving.

But the spirit was not daunted.

_Just like when he had bravely saved him from Rome, suddenly stepping in, protecting him. Carrying him to the safety of Heanua's home. Like a ghost, appearing from nowhere, and tending to him._

_Even though it had separated him from his friends._

The much taller, blonde-haired one walked forward towards the wall he was sitting against, calmly placing a hand on the cool stone as he examined it idly. There was an awkward silence for a long moment. Neither of the two was...quite sure what to say. America himself felt rather stupid. He _knew_ what he was there for, but how to properly formulate that into words? And in such a way, too, that would reach the goal he had in mind?

Instinct told America to make friends rather than enemies. To fix something he'd broken. What he was there for was to pick Britannia back up and put the child on the right track - on the track he was supposed to be before Alfred came and messed it up - and then be able to step out of the picture and continue being a spectator.

_Just like he had been when he overheard England talking to his brother, Wales. He had been able to stay hidden then. He had been able to simply listen and learn._

He opened his mouth, but to his surprise, Arthur interrupted.

"_My brother lives on the other side of that wall."_

America blinked, looking back to little England. He paused a moment, truly examining his face, before trying to speak again. But yet again, he was beaten to it.

"_He has been hurting me lately."_

Now he could only listen, surprised. He remembered hearing briefly in a conversation that seemed like so many years ago, before he got caught up in this whole time-travelling-extravaganza ordeal, that England did not have the best of relationships with his older brothers. That they had been rather mean to him in childhood (and yet, ironically, look who had been deemed the representative of them united?).

But so early...?

"_That is, until this wall was built." _Frowning, England tilted his head up to view the expanse of it. "_He does not like the Romans. But on the other hand, while you have been gone, I have grown to accept them."_

There seemed to be something else in those words - an edge to them that made America's heart pang with a startling jolt. _He grew to.._.accept_ them?_ He gave _in_? England..._submitted_?

Was it because...?

America's hand fell away from the wall as Arthur continued. Not once did he look at him as he spoke, keeping his green eyes trained on the stone fortress in front of him. The cold evidence of relationships now broken. It somehow made the churning feeling in America's chest worse. "_So he began to attack me." _A shrug; a carefree dismissal of all the events leading up to this point. A blatant lie that it didn't bother him. "_I am all right, now. But...I cannot see him again."_

Fragile silence. Then, a quiet, "_...that fact hurts more than any of the wounds he inflicted upon me ever did..."_

England shifted. Just slightly. Just enough so that his arms could rest atop his bunched up legs, and that his face could be buried in them, fingers clenching tightly the dark green cloak draped around him. Oh, how _small_ he looked then! Oh...how fragile...how delicate; how uncertain... Alfred found his mouth go dry with a familiar phrase running through his head.

_'You used to be so big...'_

America felt his hand fall away from the wall as he turned towards the boy. "_Britannia..."_ he began. But of course, he should have expected that he would be met with resistance.

If possible, the little ball curled itself inward even tighter, hands now clenching the green cloak as if it were his only shield from the world. "_Just leave me again,"_ came the angry - the _tired_, the fed-up - mumble. "_Just like you always did. Just like you always have to do."_

A breath, and then the head of messy sandy-blonde hair lifted itself to glare at the taller one. "_I have figured it out by now. I know what you are."_

America stilled.

_"You are like me."_

Green eyes finally turned to greet hesitant blue. "_I know what it is, now. That strong sense of likeness, that humming that stirs in my heart. As if we are somehow connected. And we are, because we are both land of the same world. Are we not?"_

America took a breath, bracing himself. Japan and France would not be happy...but again, this was inevitable, wasn't it? "_Yes."_

England nodded, turning back to the wall. He paused a moment, before muttering, "_I would ask you several questions - who you are - where your people are - why they aren't with you if you are interacting with me - and what your intentions are for continually visiting me. But I have the feeling you would be as cryptic with me as much as our very existence is."_

At that, the smallest of smirks crossed Alfred's face. "_Yes,_ _I would probably _try _to be cryptic, but...fail at it in the end." _He laughed a little, a joyous sound ringing out of his throat and reaching towards the little boy.

Arthur nodded, not giving much of a reaction other than bowing his head to stare at his arms. It was a long awkward moment - one in which America quickly stopped laughing and cleared his throat, watching the younger form of his former father - before the little one finally spoke up again. And when he did, it was with delicate care. With trepidation. "_In that light...I do not hold it against you." _Arthur winced, shifting slightly. "_Part of me..."_ He couldn't say it; of course. England always had a hard time being honest about his feelings.

But part of him just wanted something to be angry at; something to take out his hurt emotions on, and that - that, America completely understood.

His blue-eyed gaze softened as the little one continued, clearing his throat. "_It is just that...everything is now so...uncertain." _Tiny hands gripping his dark-colored cloak for comfort. For something study and constant to grasp. "_I thought maybe the future would be sealed now that I finally allowed the Romans to turn me into a prospering province...and things seemed to go well for a time..." _A hesitant breath. "_...but my brothers did not like it. Especially Northern Britannia." _Scotland. "_And now...now I cannot talk to him..."_

Silence as the wind brushed by; a gentle breeze. Britannia's voice came out as the smallest of whispers. "_...I wonder if he hates me..."_

There was one phrase that while America was still a colony, England always told him. Ingrained it into his brain as a constant reminder - and now, America found it came to good use. With a great intake of breath, he placed his hands on his waist as he began, "_Well...nothing can withstand the test of time, Britannia."_

A sour glare. Not exactly what the little province wanted to be hearing, but Alfred continued anyway. "_People do not last, wealth does not last, fame does not last, power does not last..." _A small pause. "_...relationships do not last..."_

That seemed to be it. Just as England opened his mouth to retort, Alfred plunged on. "_But neither...does anger. Neither does hatred." _That caught the island nation's attention, and he listened with attentive eyes and ears as the taller blonde spoke. "_Although your brother, for a time, may not particularly _like_ you giving into the Romans, it will fade as the years wear on." _Lifting his head to the wall, Alfred placed a hand on its cool surface again, blue eyes scanning it from side to side. "_So perhaps this wall is a good thing, in the end. It means that his anger will dissipate without needing to ever attack you again."_

Britannia's eyes slowly drifted, turning from Alfred's face, to the wall. The tiny hands that used to be so tense and fisted, were now relaxed as he thought about this new concept. This new hope. Swallowing, the small one shrugged. "_Maybe..."_

And somehow, with such a simple answer as that, America smiled.

But then the little one surprised him.

"_Would you...sit down beside me here...for a moment?"_

America blinked at him, then cast a quick glance back at Japan and France, who he could barely make out (what with Texas not on). He had a feeling that they were getting impatient - after all, they really should get going; he seriously needed to stop dawdling - but he supposed...for a moment couldn't hurt, right?

"_All right,"_ he responded carefully. "_But just for a moment, because I need to, ah...leave...soon. Again." _The larger nation winced even as he said it. But thankfully, Britannia didn't seem too disturbed.

Instead, the boy shrugged and resumed patting the space beside him insistently. Which...was weird, considering he wasn't even really looking at America as he did so. But America squatted down anyway - a compromise would be okay, right? - watching his younger friend. "_So...what is it?"_

There are some things immortalized to man - and other things, immortalized to country.

This was one of those latter, sometimes more important, things.

With an untellable amount of shock, Alfred watched as Arthur jumped to his feet, finally turning to the older blonde. There was no hesitancy in the small one's actions as he put both tiny hands on either side of America's jaw, and leaned in, placing his lips to the older one's forehead, right where his bangs just brushed against his skin.

The speechless silence was broken only by England's quiet murmur, barely heard, but meant only for one pair of ears. "_That is...in thank you to all the rules you have broken up to this point...just so that I could have a friend."_

America wasn't surprised when he found that he suddenly felt like crying.

* * *

"Alfred-san...? Alfred-san...Alfred..."

"..._Alfred_!"

America jumped to attention, finally coming back to himself from reminiscing. "What? What, what is it?" He asked quickly, looking around. They had time travelled again, so it wasn't a surprise to him that they were in a totally different setting. And actually, this one relaxed him a bit, despite being in the midst of a small town. From the way the people walking around were dressed, they were still in the Roman-Occupation era.

Which...was a bit of a bummer.

"We...uh...have successfully travelled nearly two hundred years in the future," Japan spoke up quietly, pocketing his Blackberry quickly so that unneeded eyes wouldn't see. That mistake was hoped to not be made again. "The year is 304. Thought you should know."

America put on a smile, relieved. "Thanks, Kiku!" He looked around. "So...where are we?"

"St. Albans. Or as it is called in this time period, 'Verulamium.'" It was hard to not notice how pleased Japan sounded. It made Alfred grin sincerely. The fact that his machine was near perfect working-order must have been making the Asian happy.

France sighed, stretching. "_Eh bien..._that's great and all, _mais j'ai faim..."_ he whined. "Is there any place we can eat around here?"

"Probably..." Alfred shrugged. "...but the better question is there any food that _you_ can eat here?"

France huffed. "_Mon cher_, you underestimate me. I am not a gourmet like Feliciano. I can eat nearly anything put in front of me."

America snickered, grinning. "I don't know about that, Francis...what about England's scones?"

"_Nearly_, was the key word there that I think you entirely missed."

America snickered, but then Japan quickly interrupted, holding up a hand without looking at the two behind him. His gaze was fixed on something entirely different. "_Ne, ne,_ could you two lower your voices for a moment...?"

America and France blinked at him in surprise, then slowly approached either side of the Asian, eyes scanning the small town as they tried to find what had his attention so caught. But no matter how they searched, America couldn't see it. "Kiku," he whispered, "What's going on? I can't find anything - " But then his suddenly caught it. After all, it was hard not to, what with the commotion going on...

A crowd was beginning to gather around a single man, wearing strange robes who was also surrounded by Roman soldiers. But what...Rome wasn't among them. By this time, did he go home, finally?America wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that hunch might be right.

Almost subconsciously, the three followed everyone else, joining the multitude that had gathered. It was then, as if sensing that everyone was finally in place, that the one in charge spoke, clearing his throat before speaking loudly in Latin. Kiku covered his Blackberry with his sleeve as he began running the application to translate what was saying. He was lucky not a lot of other people were talking just yet. They were all hushed, watching with wide eyes the proceedings.

Then the Blackberry registered the words.

"_Today, people of Verulamium, we bring before you Alban from Chantry Island as a forewarning. We have charged him with the following crimes: refusing to sacrifice to the ancient gods, and sheltering a Christian priest." _There was a meaningful pause, before the speaker turned to the accused man, who was holding his head up proudly. "_Would you like to explain yourself?"_

"_You have heard all I have to say before the magistrate,"_ Alban replied calmly, almost amused. "_But I will tell you the same thing I told him. I worship and adore the true living God who created all things."_

_"Even when faced with death, you refuse to acknowledge the gods?"_

_"I would not have told the priest to give me his robes so that I may take his place and fool you, had I not been ready to face death for my beliefs."_

There was a tinge of angry red that covered the Roman soldier's face. Briskly, he gestured to the river that lay outside of town, and the hill that was on the other side, barking to his shoulders. "_Take him to the execution grounds. I do not want such Christian vermin in my presence any longer."_

The crowd parted nervously as the soldiers did as they were commanded. Although the people didn't follow, they watched with wide eyes as Alban was forced to make the trek to the river, across it, and to the hill beyond. Some parents, at that moment, decided to take their children home, so that they may not see the tiny figures in the distance do their duty. Others continued watching, straining their eyes to see the beheading.

_"Do you think he is right?"_

Japan was startled as his Blackberry started picking up random conversations. But he was even more startled when he heard the voice of the person who responded.

_"I do not know yet."_

Freezing, Japan watched as America's ears, too, registered that voice. But before the taller male could turn around instinctively to find where Britannia was, Kiku made sure to grab his arm and help him stay put. So far, they hadn't been seen by the little nation (who was turning out to be quite a pain, turning up everywhere they were). Perhaps if they just stayed still...

The first voice chuckled. He also sounded young. Perhaps a friend - or maybe just a stranger - of little England's? "_Maybe he is crazy or insane or something. Honestly, to die for your religion...?"_

_"If you truly believe did believe in one God who was omnipotent and omniscient, I think you would be more afraid of denying that such a God existed when you knew otherwise, rather than dying for him."_

The first voice hummed. All three nations (France, too, who had begun to catch the bits and pieces of the conversation being told) listened with still silence until he continued. "_What do you think of him?"_

_"Who? His God or Alban?"_

_"Alban."_

There was a careful pause. Britannia sure took his time in answering. But when he did, it was carefully, quietly, and almost incoherently. "_I have a feeling...he is going to be the first of many."_

All three nations knew with certainty he was right.

* * *

**History Notes: **Not much to explain about Hadrian's wall, I don't think...because I explained that last chapter. xD But yes, Scotland's tribes, too, rebelled against the Romans. Not that that's a surprise. But I had considered that since by this time, England was pretty much, "Fine. (frown) I guess I'll be your freakin' province already." Scotland's attacks were more against his little brother _and_ the Romans, considering England was part of the Roman empire...and...all...if that makes sense?

But on the other hand - I couldn't help it, sorry guys. x3; I had to include the history behind the town St. Alban. I mean, come on! St. Alban was the first martyr in the UK! History ish there, baby. I don't exactly know the date of when Verulamium changed its name to "St. Alban" in honor of him...but they did at some point. xD; Har...I should probably figure that out instead of leaving myself in the dark like an ignorant little author...

But yes, to explain exactly what happened: Chantry Island in Hertfordshire was (and still is) very woody. A perfect place for refugee Christians to hide and have secret meetings. (Britannia at this time was the perfect place for Christians to flee to, since they weren't persecuted as much there). Alban was hiding one of the Christian priests in his house while a pagan, but the priest converted him to Christianity, and so he, too, began to attend the meetings in the woods.

But then they were caught. D: Unfortunately. Sad day. But not without Alban telling the priest to switch robes with him so that they would think Alban was the priest and would arrest him instead. Of course, that didn't make the soldiers happy when they found they were tricked, so they decided to make Alban pay the "crimes" that the priest would have had to pay anyway.

Hence the above scene. xD

I hope you enjoyed your dose of a summer history lesson. xD; AGAIN, I sincerely hope I'll get that next chapter up soon. Sooner than normal. (sigh)

Review, please, if you so feel led. (heart heart)


	11. And So Ends Nearly Everything

**Crystal's Notes: **Holy crap-a! I totally didn't like...edit this thing! Crap! I'm sorry if there are any errors - I don't have time to really look it over until I have to leave for a two-week trip. ;.; Which...yes. I'm going to be gone for two weeks. No updates until I get back...I'm really, terribly sorry. But once I do get back, I'm sure I'll be brimming with ideas and hopefully be able to crank out the next chapter in less than a day! 8D Doesn't hurt to think positive, right?

Oh...and btw, can I go like, cry in happiness for a moment? We broke 100. _We broke 100_! I hate to be sentimental and like, overdramatic , but I'm a girl, so it can be pardoned, right? ;.; We broke 100! Omgsh I can't tell you how much I love you guys so muchhhhhh!

And this breaks my heart to say it - but I can't address you all right now! I'm being pushed to leave right now...and omgsh I feel horrible! Because you all have been such gorgeous, darling people to have reviewed...I want to try and take the time to reply to you, just as you guys have taken the generous time to review! ;.;

I'll seriously reply next chapter! For now...just accept the fact that you're all wonderful people! Beautiful/handsome inside and out!

Please have a wonderful two weeks! (heart heart)

* * *

England, of course, understood that everyone would eventually have to leave. Except for Canada (who he had truly strained himself by this point to remember), who had agreed to watch over him as best he could while simultaneously trying to maintain affairs overseas at home. They were also lucky the bosses of the respectful nations had taken the news that their country's representatives...were, well, lost in time, and were working on their way to return, rather well. That certainly served to make things easier.

So he, once again, had gotten used to the almost-quiet solitude that was left behind when Germany, Italy, and China had to return home.

But what he wasn't prepared for was when Germany unexpectedly returned the next day with someone else in tow.

"Kesesesesese!"

Oh boy.

He had been in his study when the door slammed open, hunkered over documents and trying to catch up on work he had missed while being sick (although he still was, he was beginning to learn how to cope with it). But when the albino, as obnoxious as ever, sauntered in with a large grin on his face, he knew he wasn't going to make any progress.

"So, Arthur~" Prussia lilted as he leaned forward on the opposite side of the island nation's desk, arms crossed as his elbows held his weight. He had that unmistakable, mischievous glint in his red eyes - a warning, almost, it seemed, to the Englishman. "What's this I hear about Alfred, Kiku and Francis stuck in the ancient times...?"

The blonde bit back a groan, closing his eyes and reaching up a hand to pinch his nose. "Bugger off, Gilbert."

This only served to amuse the once-nation. "Kesesesese!"

Germany entered behind his older brother, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face. The strong man swallowed. "I apologize, Arthur." His voice was stiff as he spoke; the words, he perhaps still did not like to say. "Once he had been informed of the situation, he demanded to come over immediately."

England cast the taller blonde a side-ways glare. "Why did you even feel the need to tell him about this in the _first_ place?"

"Aw, c'mon, Iggy - "

" - don't call me that - "

" - Alfred calls you that all the time, doesn't he? - "

" - Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I like it - "

" - Is it like a pet name or something? Kesesese! Well, if that's the case, then consider the name 'Iggy' completely wiped from my memory!"

England, red in the face, abruptly stood up and shoved the albino back by the shoulders, chiding loudly, "Get off my desk, you prat!" A small pause for a heave of air. "And I could care less about you knowing where Alfred, Kiku, and Francis are in the first place. It isn't even any of your business!"

Gilbert chuckled a bit more - a strange, more melancholy sound, now, for some reason - before shrugging. "Actually...I could quite disagree with you.," he murmured. "Considering the fact that one of my closest friends is missing...yes, it _is_ part of my business."

Ah. The Bad Touch Trio. Of course. England had almost forgotten. He sighed, reaching up a hand to his forehead as he rubbed away a light ache that had formed there. "Well, I'm not quite sure what you hoped to accomplish by coming over here," he muttered. "Unless you want to somehow try and contact them. But it's a very sensitive machine; any bump or nudge could cause something to happen, and frankly, it seems as if those three are making their way back just fine on their own..." Although they were taking _way_ too long to do so, but still. Any progress was at least progress.

"Kesesesese. Silly England!" Prussia waved a hand dismissively, batting at the air as if it were an insistent, bothersome little fly. "I came because I'm a little bit curious; that's all. I wanted to see the machine for myself; answer a few questions I had...harmless stuff, really."

England shared a suspicious glance with Germany. How come he felt like it was going to be the exact opposite?

"...all right," he finally answered after a long, almost-eternal pause, green eyes drifting back to the red ones of the albino. "The machine's downstairs. I'll show you where it is..."

But Prussia's cackling almost made the Briton change his mind - and it would have...if the blonde had not been as curious as the ex-nation, as to what it was that he could possibly find out.

* * *

He had been pondering religion when he had appeared. He had been thinking about Alban, about the strange God he had insisted on worshipping until his death, and about the few other deaths that had been caused in the name of this stranger. But he had decided that even in the face of such convictions, Britannia himself wasn't ready just yet to accept this religion. It was hard to change beliefs, switching from the gods he had lived under his entire life to this new deity, who claimed superiority over all other gods...

But he wasn't able to think on the matter much longer before he heard his name being muttered from behind him, sing-song, and silky. An accented voice that he remembered.

"_Oh little 'Britannia'~"_

The blonde gasped, straightening, his attention captured. Enraptured. Swept away by the one voice he thought he would never hear again. His faerie friends forgotten (but nonetheless fluttered about his head nervously for some reason, tugging on his hair, and gently reaching out for his face, trying to warn him about something, but what could be so dangerous that he couldn't handle? Not with the Roman Empire defending him, at least), the boy slowly turned around, expression turning into one of skeptical disbelief. "_Brother...?"_

The red hair. The green eyes. The same bushy eyebrows identical to his own. But the brother he remembered as being only slightly older than him was now much taller. In his early teens, at least, while Britannia appeared only about a year older.

But that meant his brother to the north was prospering. Growing. Becoming his own nation.

His heart skipping a beat at the prospect of that, Britannia jumped to his feet, dark green cloak billowing about him (an addition to his wardrobe from a century or two ago that he was really fond of; it allowed him to blend into his surroundings if ever he wanted to sneak away into his forests to escape the busy, tiresome political life of being a province to the Roman Empire). He could hardly believe it. "_You have gotten tall..."_ he muttered in a nervous laugh, reverting back to the Brythonic tongue they had used so many years ago.

His brother grinned, and responded. But in a different language. A language that was similar to the Brythonic language - but yet...Britannia still couldn't understand a word. The small, unsure smile that had formed on the blonde's face fell away at the realization, and at the aura with which his brother presented himself, smug and unreadable.

Unpredictable.

His brother to the north laughed, tilting his head back. It unsettled his younger sibling, who glanced to the side briefly, as if trying to gauge a reaction from an imaginary friend before looking back to his brother, who grinned at him in excitement.

...excitement for what...?

"_That, little brother," _he finally muttered in their old tongue. "_Is my new language. The _Pictish_ language. And my people..." _He put a fist to his chest, thumping heavily and strongly for emphasis. "_...are now the Picts."_

Britannia, raising an eyebrow, couldn't help but be impressed although he tried not to show it. "_That is...great,"_ he responded sincerely. "_But how did you - ?"_

_" - you see, while you have been a pitiful slave to the Romans, _I_ have been working. I have been training. _I_ have been building a civilization for myself, without any help from the outside." _Every word was laced with pride, and for Britannia, a growing sense of dread for some reason. "_Oh, and as to how I made it past that wall? Is it not a shame that your Roman friend is beginning to leave you?"_

The blonde felt himself bristle, almost, fists clenching defensively as he retorted, "_They are not...deserting me, if that is what you mean. Rome just finished a civil war, and is trying to reconstruct himself - but there are barbarians attacking him. So it is perfectly fine with me that he needs some of his men back in order to defend himself..." _Even if it were men who were supposed to be guarding Hadrian's Wall, now leaving his northern border defenseless.

The Pict scrunched up his nose in disgust. "_What is this? You are _defending_ him? Hundreds of years ago, were you not resenting him? _Cursing_ him? Begging the gods to kill him?"_

_"I...yes! I was!" _Britannia saw no use in denying the truth. "_But that was hundreds of years ago, just like you said. Things have changed. His people have helped me, as I have helped him. We are..."_ Dare he say it? It was still a strange word to him, to use in retrospect to the one nation he had hated for so long. But... "_...we are friends, now."_

_"Ha!"_ His brother laughed, an awful glint of twisted glee in his green eyes. "_You will not be saying _that_ within the decade!"_

Britannia didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. One sentence, he was angering his brother. The next, he was amusing him - as if the redhead knew something the blonde ignorantly didn't. Glaring at his brother, and involuntarily taking a step back, he muttered, "_What do you mean...?"_

His brother was still grinning. "_Surely you've felt it by now?"_

Felt what?

_"My people have crossed into your border," _he muttered, taking a step forward. Dangerously. "_And they are beginning to attack. Do you not feel the havoc being caused...? The panic...?"_

Britannia's eyes widened a fraction as he felt something prick his skin. His right arm tingled, an annoying, but persistent ache forming. Almost as if on cue, he felt his heart speed up, his breathing pick up pace just slightly. His brother's grin widened at that. "_Ah...I suppose now the fight's begun." _A small pause. The older one watched the younger one carefully. "_But...where are your Roman friends...? Who will be able to defend you, little brother?"_

Now gripping his arm, wincing, Britannia grit his teeth. "_I can...defend myself, thank you. My people...have often been hired...to work in the Roman military..."_

His brother laughed. Mockingly. But then, without warning, he lashed out, knocking the blonde off his feet with a swift kick, making the child grunt in pain when his back hit the ground. He gave his brother no time to react, placing his sandaled foot on the blonde's chest, adding very little pressure - but enough so that it was a struggle for Britannia to breathe, the boy's hands clenching his foot desperately, trying to push it off. "_Act all you want, little brother. But let me tell you this - no one believes your facade of strength. All across the mainland, people are preparing to invade. We are a land of wealth, my brother, and our reputation has preceded us. We have attracted the attention of the world. And while yes, we are ripe for the plucking - I have no interest in being conquered, unlike you."_

Britannia's eyes flashed for a moment, and the Pict could clearly see he was thinking, considering his options. But finally, his small lips formed a frown. "_Why are you telling me this...? I know you did not come here to..."_ Pain flashed in those eyes for a brief moment - what was going on among all the fighting? - and the child grunted. "_...to simply warn me about possible invasions..."_

_"No reason in particular." _The older one shrugged, before adding more pressure to the foot on his brother's chest, making him instinctively hiss out hair the little one most certainly needed. "_I came here to attack the Roman Empire. And since _you_ are part of it, well..."_

Younger, brighter green eyes widened in realization as the final statement was made. "_...I will consider you and your casualties as a necessary sacrifice in order to attain my goal."_

_"No! Stop thi - " _He couldn't even finish his sentence. The foot was now digging into his ribcage - into his diaphragm - and he couldn't spare any negotiation for the oxygen his lungs were dying for. Every breath was shallow; every breath, painful to draw in. A struggle. A fight.

But the Pict seemed to enjoy this. He grinned, slowly leaning in close. Taking his time, as if there was no rush to divulge himself in his brother's pain just yet. "_Oh, and by the way. Before I beat you to a pulp, I want you to know that our other brother told me what you said on that day several, several years ago. Do you remember, brother? When he was still with the Silures?"_

The boy's eyes widened just slightly, guilt mixing in with the fear and determination settled in green pools of light. His brother murmured before he could respond (not that he wanted to, what with the shortness of breath). "_Seems like your 'day' still has not come, hm? Even after all this time...you _still_ do not know war. Nor how to keep your promises."_

Immediate pain was the next thing the boy registered.

* * *

Alfred hummed as he surveyed their new surroundings, his blue eyes gazing over docks and water, and the busy life of the people as they bustled about, loading ships and talking to captains. It was a dismal day, it seemed - as if it were going to rain soon. Which, really, was no surprise. What actually fascinated America more was the fact that he couldn't remember it ever raining when they were in Britannia - except for, of course, that one week that he had stayed in with Arthur and Heanua.

He turned his head as Japan and France neared, having left to go see the docks (and grab some food that it looked like some merchants were selling off to the sides; France was still hungry, after all). The blonde one particularly, and humorously, looking ill, clutching his stomach as he made his way back to America.

The normally-bespectacled one jumped on the opportunity. "Roman food not treating you well, Francis?"

The Frenchman shook his head weakly, coughing a bit for dramatic effect. "_Mais non..._it was positively...strange. The spices...the foods...the combinations that I would never put together..." A visible shudder passed through his body, a hand flying up to his mouth as if to calm himself from bringing it all back up again. "I can't believe I once ate those...monstrosities-for-meals daily..."

America was impressed. "Wow. That bad, huh? Worse than Iggy's?"

"It runs a close second."

America chuckled, lifting his eyebrows. "That surprises me, considering how good Feliciano's food is..."

"Well, for one, Rome did not have all the ingredients Italians today have," Francis replied, beginning to look a little better, more color appearing in his face as he was recounting one of his favorite topics. "They never ate tomatoes, potatoes or corn...their diet consisted mainly of nuts, other vegetables, and fruits, and the occasional meat - but that was a luxury." The Frenchman sighed dramatically, as if grieving. "I can't wait to get back to such glorious food that appears right at my fingertips..."

The image of a large, greasy McDonald's burger appeared in America's mind at that moment, and he hummed in agreement, patting his own stomach. "I know what you mean..."

There was silence for an unexpectedly long while, during which both of the two thought that their third companion should speak up and agree, mentioning a desire to return to his salty fish and rice...but no such claim was made, strangely enough. America raised an eyebrow, turning to Japan, who had his head bowed slightly, a distant look in his faded brown eyes.

Weird.

"Hey...Kiku. You all right...?" he asked tentatively, testing the waters with the tip of his toe.

The Japanese blinked and straightened, eyes resting upon his friend, before nodding absent-mindedly. "Just...thinking," he muttered carefully.

"About what?"

The black-haired one opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it, a curious look coming over his face. But then he parted his lips again - this time, to speak. "I saw him. He's here again." A small pause. "He's down by the docks."

The other two didn't need to be told who the Asian was referring to. Mouths dropped open in initial shock, before it quickly passed, and both began to speak at the same time, overlapping one another.

"Are you serious?" Alfred was exclaiming, throwing his arms up, and then digging his hands into his hair. "Is there a time frame we can hop to where something _doesn't_ happen? Come on! The year is 409! Things shouldn't be happening on an odd date! Even dates are better!"

"We should probably leave immediately," France was saying, much more calmly than their American friend. "Before he somehow sees us again. He has a terrible habit of doing that..."

But Japan was undaunted by the two's behavior, and instead, quietly spoke up again, saying the most effective thing he could think of to say. "...he's hurt."

Silence. Pure silence.

America furrowed his eyebrows, unable to stop himself from slowly asking it. "What do you mean...? It can't be that bad..." ..._is it?"_

Japan shrugged. " I do not know the extent of his injuries. His face is bruised. He is walking with a limp. The rest of his body is covered with his cloak." The Asian shook his head. "However, despite all that, he seems to having more pain on the inside...than anywhere else."

France and America stared at their friend, minds whirring, fighting against instinct. Finally, it was the latter who spoke up again, licking his lips nervously, fearing rejection for the request he was about to make. "Can we...see him...?"

Blue eyes darted to Francis' face, watching for any signs of annoyance or anger. But there was none. And when a pair of brown eyes looked to him for confirmation, gazing at him hopefully, too, he could only sigh. "We may s_ee_ him. But that is all." There was clear emphasis on those words. "No more interactions...right, Alfred?"

The American, visibly hesitant, nodded anyway. "Yeah. Sure. But can we go, now?"

Another sigh. "Might as well..."

Japan lead the way quickly, making their way back to the docks, and weaving in between the people gathered, finally reaching a certain point where they could see the familiar blonde boy, but be a safe distance away as to be able to hide should he look their way.

It also, unexpectedly, allowed them to hear what he was saying to the taller male he was standing with, who gazed at him in reproach.

Japan readied his Blackberry, angling it as best he could so he could pick up the two's conversation, and not the meaningless, everyday ones of the civilians around him. It was a task easier said than done, but he somehow got it to moderately work out.

"_Now, listen here, Britannia - " _the older one was saying. But little England quickly, impatiently, cut him off.

"_ - no, _you_ listen. I am tired of being ignored. Of being disregarded. The Roman Empire has not paid my people for their services in seven years. They have pulled out all their troops, not sending a single one to help me against my brothers - _or_ the Saxons! And they expect me to stay loyal to them?" _Britannia sneered at the man he was talking to. By his robes, the trio could tell he was someone of importance. Perhaps the governor? "_I refuse to be submissive to him in this time of suffering when he has abandoned me!"_

The man shook his head incredulously, furiously. "_Rome has other matters back at home. He cannot attend to your needs when he is fighting for himself."_

_"The hypocrite!"_

There was such a burning hatred in that one statement along that shocked those who were listening (which really, was only the trio; all the others at the dock were purposefully and politely trying to do their own business).

Britannia's lip was curled, his green eyes hard, bushy eyebrows lowered dangerously. "_I _am_ part of him! Does he forget what he told me himself? If he wants to use the excuse that he needs to fight for his life - then that is a cowardly action!" _A quick breath. "_I am part of the Roman Empire - whatever attacks him, attacks me, so whatever attacks me, should at least concern him."_

The man shook his head again, hands waving themselves as if trying to dismiss the young one's arguments. "_It is not like that. He simply cannot spare the men to protect you - "_

_" - then I declare myself to be under my own administration."_

Shocked silence met that statement. The man, stuttering, reeling, quickly tried to clarify. "_What do you mean by that absurd - ?"_

_" - I _mean..." There was a careful, meaningful pause. Somehow, even though he was still so small, Britannia looked so threatening. So angry, so frightening, so _tired_, so _conflicted_ - perhaps part of it was the bruises on his face, the visible limp he tried to hide as he took a step forward, glaring at the man he was talking to - "..._that I want you to get off my island."_

The man's eyes widened, and then quickly turned angry. "_You do not have the rights to demand such an exile - "_

_" - I believe I do, now that I am separating myself from the empire." _Another step forward, another limp. Another wince. But the anger and threat was still there, laden in every word that Britannia uttered. "_If you stay, I assure you, my people will not treat you kindly. If you will not help us, you will be against us."_

"_But - "_

_" - and when you return, tell Rome to give me back my mother, now." _There was a surprising falter in Arthur's voice as he said that. His green eyes shifted, and for a brief moment, he was so very vulnerable, so very much the child that he was whose mother had been away for hundreds of years, before that moment was gone, and icy harshness consumed his gaze once more. "_It is time she returned home and began living for herself."_

The man glared back, fists clenching themselves. "_Rome will not be happy," _he muttered dangerously.

"_No,"_ little England agreed dismissively. "_But I will be."_

And that seemed to be the end of...well, everything.

* * *

"How do you think he got those wounds...?"

Huddled together now away from the docks as Japan readied the Blackberry for another time-hop, Alfred couldn't stop himself from asking it. He had a strangely contemplative look on his face; visibly bothered by the events he had just seen transpire.

It made France sigh. "Did you not hear him? He mentioned his brothers attacking him. As well as the Saxons."

That bothered Alfred for some reason more than he knew how to describe. He frowned, lifting his eyes to stare off into the cloud-darkened distance. "But I thought...that wall would...change things..." he muttered to himself, a statement barely heard by the Frenchman.

But the other blonde understood regardless. He nodded, lowering his eyes sympathetically as a soft wind brushed by. "You thought the wall would allow time for Scotland to think things over..."

There was a pause before America hesitantly nodded.

France cracked a small smirk, lifting his head. "I am surprised. You would think that after all these years, you, of all people, would begin to figure out the Kirkland trait."

"Well, this _is_ Alfred we are talking about, Francis..." Japan couldn't help but murmur, shrugging lightly.

"Hey, now!" America huffed, frowning as he crossed his arms over his chest. "That's not nice. I can be smart when I want to. I don't see either of _you_ speaking Latin as well as I do."

France lifted a hand, waving it dismissively as he chuckled, but the grin never left his face. "Ah, forgive us, _mon ami_. You're just a bit easy to tease."

America rolled his eyes. "It's not usually that way, but yeah, okay, whatever. So what was that about the 'Kirkland trait that you were gonna tell me?"

"_Oui."_ France nodded to himself a moment, carefully thinking, before beginning. "Living so close to the British nations has allowed me to...study them over the years and begin to notice some...similarities between them. For instance, the eyebrows." He waved his hand generally, as if summoning to mind the image of the bushy caterpillars. "Each Kirkland has one. Even Peter."

America nodded quickly, dismissively. "Yeah, I already know that. But you're talking about something else."

"_Oui, je suis."_ France grinned. "My, you're becoming astute, Alfred."

"Just shut up and stop playing coy!"

A chuckle. But the Frenchman submitted. "Each Kirkland is also...very stubborn. Very possessive. Very...strong-willed. Fiery. It helps them in many ways - makes them foes not easy to conquer - but it also...hurts them in many ways. Makes them not able to make friends so easily because they often tend...to hold grudges."

America paused, scanning Francis' face, before he turned to look out at the distance again, thinking over what was just said. It still bothered him heavily. "So...even after over three hundred years...Scotland still resented England?"

"_Non,_ I think it was more...that after over three hundred years, Scotland still hated the Romans...and didn't care if his brother got hurt in the process, continuing to hold that weakling image of his little brother that he had had instilled in him since the Romans won against him in 43."

Gentle silence.

It stretched on for a while, a polite pardon for Alfred to think to himself, before Japan decided to speak up, clearing his throat softly. "It is ready to go whenever you are."

America nodded absently. "Yeah...let's get going, then." With a small, quiet inhale, he added with a chuckle as he finally looked back to the group, a small smile on his face, "If I think anymore, my brain's gonna burst."

France chuckled. "Don't we know _that _to be true."

With a smile as America rolled his eyes good-naturedly, Japan clicked the button, and the world finally faded to white...

...but the result was not the intended one they wanted.

"...wait, what do you _mean_ it's only 410, now? How did we drop from skimming over one hundred years, to a single year? !"

* * *

"...Gilbert, what did you _do_? !"

* * *

**History Notes: **I'll try to make this quick. xD; The Picts were a tribe of people from the Scotland area (later one of the two tribes that joined to form the Kingdom of Alba, which, as Heta fans know, I think, became Scotland). After the Romans took some soldiers away from Hadrian's Wall, leaving it less guarded, the Picts were free to climb over it and get to the other side to begin attacking what of the Roman Empire they could (which, unfortunately, was Iggy's people xD).

Roman food...I really don't know much about it other than what I briefly researched. xD; From what I read, they really didn't eat corn, tomatoes, and potatoes...

Ah! I gotta hurry!

Ummm...Roman soldiers pulled out of Britannia to take care of battles closer to home...leaving the Britons defenseless against the Irish, Picts, and Saxons. 8D There! Sorry for the short, abbreviated history lesson!

And nekoalley - this is a specific shout out to you - I'm so honored about your AP History paper! xD; I really am - I just can't expound on such feelings right now! I'll try to keep this thing as accurate as possible for you. But I'm an ameteur so I apologize about any untrue information.

ALL OF YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY! (heart heart) I love you all! Review, if you feel so lead.


	12. Of Ash and Ruin

**Crystal's Notes: **FINALLY! Gosh you guys…any excuse I try to put up here to appease you is just going to be silly and annoying, won't it? ;.; Let's just face it…writer's block in combination with lethargy is…a pain. To say the least.

Please accept my apology and enjoy this chapter. (heart heart) Love you guys so much! Thanks for all your good wishes; I had a great trip!

And to answer your questions, HunterWindstalker, I do hope I will be covering those! X3;; Again, I'm an amateur. Not everything is 100% correct, nor do I cover every single little detail…and I'm a bit like Hollywood, because I'm dramaticizing everything, but I guess that's the American blood in me. 8D; Woo.

But yes, Medieval Arthur, Britannia Angel Arthur, Pirate Arthur, nearly every kind of Arthur will be here. xD Nearly. Because I do know where I intend to stop the story, but that won't be for a long while. xD

Do enjoy until then! (heart heart)

* * *

She came with no trumpet fanfare, but for all the joy it caused her youngest child, she may as well have. As it were, her hair was unkept, messy, and her clothes dirty, unwashed, from the long travel it had been to return home.

But it didn't matter.

As soon as she set her sandaled foot on the grass of her land, her entire soul sighed in relief. Ah, finally…returned at last. The air hummed, throbbed, pleased, and the tall grass tickled her pale flesh. She could feel it – it was as if a heavy, burdensome cloak had been placed over her beloved home, and now, with her return – it was suddenly lifted. Suddenly, everything was relieved of the depression that plagued it, and the sun seemed to shine just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe what made her think that was just the way her littlest one's straw-blonde hair seemed to soak in the light, even as it danced as he ran towards her, dark green cloak billowing out behind him, white robe underneath flapping from the speed with which he dashed.

It had been a long time since her little Britannia was this happy.

Falling to her knees before the boy, she held out her arms, into which he flung himself without a care, without pretention to how he should be focused on growing up instead of pulling this childish nonsense, burrowing his face in her neck as soon as she was in his arms. Mother Britannia hugged her son closely back in return, running a hand through his locks – a strange, bright color that he had certainly not inherited from her, but that she loved nonetheless. It marked him as different, special. Set apart from his brothers.

She sighed happily as she took in his scent. Still woodsy. But yet…different. He had been marked by civilization. The same civilization that now turned their back on him, but still – that changed nothing. She was still so, so proud of him. "_Hello, my brave one," _she finally murmured to him, holding him close, seeing as how he had no intention yet of letting her go either.

"_Mother…" _she finally heard him mutter, halfway in disbelief – the other in overwhelming _relief. _He tightened his hold on her just slightly, as if he simply couldn't believe that his request had been granted – she was finally here! Finally home! She could feel his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, before saying, "_…welcome home…"_

Britannia hummed lovingly in response, continuing to stroke her youngest one's hair. "_Oh, my brave one…" _she murmured, pausing, reflecting, before confiding in him. "_I have heard about everything you and your brothers have had to undergo because of my lack of defenses…words cannot even begin to form the apologies that I want to give in abundance to you. You should never have had to go through that…" _Her green eyes softened, touched as she could remember the news being delivered to her as she had sat, unsuspecting, in her chamber. "…_yet I am so proud of you…"_

A hitch in her son's breathing. Of a sudden, he clutched her tighter, as if desperately. As if scared. "_…y-you…do you mean that…?"_

Frowning, Mother Britannia pulled back, brushing some of her son's strands of hair away from his face to observe him better. "_Yes. I most certainly do…" _she murmured confidently as she searched his green eyes that mirrored her own. "…_but my dearest, whatever is wrong? Why would you ever doubt that I would be – ?"_

The blonde considered telling her – really, he did. He wanted to confide in her about the attacks his northern brother's tribes inflicted upon him and his people. He wanted, more than anything else, to confide in her about how all his brothers hated him, now. Him and his people, all for accepting the Roman culture. All for becoming civilized and accustomed to houses, baths, order, laws, taxes. All for finally submitting and becoming friends with the enemy. He wanted to perhaps hear her become aghast, to disown them, maybe, and to stroke his cheek as she assured him that they would pay for their heinous misdeeds.

But whatever he wanted to do, as little Britannia opened his mouth and stared into his mother's piercing green eyes…he found he couldn't. Subconsciously reaching a hand over to the side of his cloak and pulling it higher over his shoulder to hide a new bruise there from his oldest brother's latest attack, he muttered as he lowered his eyes, "_…no…no reason. It has just…been a while. So I wondered…if time caused things to change..."_

She bought it.

Eyes softening, she leaned forward and gathered him up close again, saying, "_Oh, my brave one, if anything, time has caused my affections for you and your brothers to _increase._ Never to decrease. I love you so much…"_

Feeling something tight worm its way into his throat, little Britannia swallowed again, muttering quietly, yet so full of sincerity, "_I love you, too, Mother…"_

And to those hiding in the distance, watching this scene, this whole spectacle proved to be unbelievable.

America turned to his crouched comrades, a completely astonished look on his face. _"That's _his _mom_?"

Japan seemed just as bewildered and shocked; France, less so. It was the blonde one who nodded in response, arms crossed over his chest as he stood and allowed his legs to relax from squatting for so long, saying, "_Oui. _That is the true Britannia. She looks very different, does she not?"

"I can't even believe they're related…" Looking back again at the two, and watching how they separated, continuing to discuss something with one another (something he was too far away to decipher), America shook his head vaguely. "I mean, look at them! She's a redhead, he's a blonde…she doesn't even have his eyebrows! How did he and his brothers _get_ those monstrous things?"

Japan sighed, "Alfred-san…if you would please, be considerate."

America shrugged dismissively. "Well, yeah, but…you gotta admit – they _are_ huge. Not bad-looking, but just…extremely large."

France chuckled. "Don't go digging yourself a bigger grave, _mon ami_~."

"I won't, I won't…oh wait…what is that Iggy's holding? A letter?"

And so it appeared it was. His mother had handed it to him, apparently from Rome – or at least someone important – because little England's face had morphed from composed and overwhelmingly happy to cautious and guarded in the split second it took him to have that piece of paper in his hands. The trio watched as Arthur's green eyes read through the letter – then, unmistakably and surprisingly became…moist.

The boy blinked rapidly, face tightening. He stumbled backward just slightly – but enough to cause everyone watching him appear on-guard. Some taking a few steps forward in worry. But Arthur shook his head, crumbling up the paper quickly. With fierce, quick motions he spoke to his mother, angry – hurt – trying to appease him, his mother talked back, gently, taking his shoulders .

After a bit more talking, the two eventually and finally and hurriedly left, leaving behind the wadded paper, harmlessly sitting on the ground.

And it was a unanimous decision. Not one of the trio disagreed on quickly dashing over, once the two nations were out of sight, to grab the paper and decipher what it said. But once they were huddled again, hidden, uncrumpled paper held before them, they wasted no time in translating it.

Or at least, Alfred didn't.

He opened his mouth to read the contents out loud word-for-word for his two friends…but as soon as he began reading it, he found that he couldn't. It didn't…make sense. At all.

The letter was from two people. A man named Honorius – the emperor, maybe? – and Rome himself. And Rome…

…Rome sounded so sad.

"What is it?" Japan asked quickly, worriedly. "What does it say?"

Alfred swallowed, at a loss. "It's from…well, it's from Rome, duh, but…" He swallowed, unsure how to describe it exactly. It was confusing, mind-boggling, and…well, that's where it became hard how to define. There was a mix of emotions here he was being left in the dark about. "…it's a letter of farewell. And he sounds as if…as if they were really good friends."

"Good friends…?" Japan frowned.

"Rome and Britannia?" France scoffed. "Since when? That little brat was always causing trouble for _grand-pére_ Rome…"

America shook his head vaguely, looking very much as bewildered as the others. He reached up a hand to scratch the back of his bed of golden locks. "That's…kinda the vibe I had been getting, too, but…I don't know, a lot of years have passed since then…"

"Nearly 400," Japan agreed quietly.

America nodded in agreement, before shrugging. "Yeah! So I don't know…maybe – "

But he never got to finish that thought.

For some unknown reason, the next thing Alfred knew was that he was being plagued by images. Passing through his mind rapidly like a slideshow set on fast-forward. First, it was Rome and another man who he did not know – but who somehow, he knew his name was _Agricola_ – trying to coax out a very stubborn little England hiding behind some barrels. Next was a forced conversation between a hostile Rome and England – and then walking through a hot room. A hot room that nearly burned his feet – but ah, how nice the cool water of the smaller pool felt!

Then came more. An argument – a stupid one – one that left little Britannia alone in a dark haunted forest. Rome coming to his rescue. Breakfast. Then a gravesite – flowers in Arthur's small hands. Then, together, with Rome and Agricola by his side, planting a tree by Boudicca's grave. Then a cave. A cave and a dead body hanging from a ceiling – and then Rome, and oh how angry Rome was – but how he forgave little England! And how little England silently swore to himself not to disappoint such a great empire like Rome ever again –

" – Alfred! _Alfred! _What's going on?"

America gasped back to the world of reality, panting, sweating. His breath coming out in labored gasps. He could hardly focus his eyes on something – which was strange, considering he kind of had _glasses_ to help with that problem, and was wearing them at the moment – wasn't he? All he could see was a large blob in front of him. Two blobs, actually. One with a top of black, and the other a top of yellow and – oh! Hey, now they were coming into view…

"Alfred…Alfred, are you all right? What happened?" He could hear France's voice. Slightly muffled, but still so near. Still so close.

He shook his head vaguely, mystified. Confused. "I don't…I don't know…I just…I just…" Saw brief glimpses of Arthur's memory…? But that sounded absurd even to himself! He swallowed, but still decided that he had to say it. "I think…I think I saw into Arthur's mind…"

France and Japan shared a bewildered glance.

"Um…let's…see if we can get a hold of the others…"

* * *

England wanted to keep a firm, intimidating glare fixed on Prussia. Really, he did. But that had been hard as of lately, and what with France, America, and Japan gone in his history for so long, he should have realized by now that trying to keep up any pretense of what he had once been was…very nigh impossible.

Except for his crabby nature, of course. That had actually worsened.

Rubbing his forehead, the world swaying before him, the island nation grit his teeth. "That's…it…I'm not letting…_anyone else…_touch that blasted…machine…"

Prussia, although sweating nervously, laughed easily, brushing away the guilt. "What? You think _I_ did that…?"

"Yes!" England retorted harshly, hand falling to his side. Green eyes were a blaze with tired fury. He wanted _out_ of this mess. _Now. _"I do! Considering you were the last one messing with it before it turned…funky, as it is now, I do." He glanced briefly at the machine, which was making a strange sound, before turning to look again at the albino. "What, have you got someone else to put the blame on?"

"Hmm…" the ex-nation tilted his head to the side in thought, before finally nodding. "Yeah, I do. How about I blame _you_?"

Startled, England straightened, before anger overtook him and his mouth opened immediately to reply –

" – kesesese, now listen, Arthur. Before you get yourself all worked up, allow me to explain." Prussia's hands were up in a defensive motion, his red eyes smug, but also…honest. A weird combination – one England hadn't seen in a long time.

Gesturing to the machine with his hand, Prussia continued. "Am I the only awesome, observant person who has noticed that all the dates Alfred, Francis, and Kiku have visited were oh-so-coincidentally synonymous with huge dates in English history?" Sharing a look with the other two in the room, and noticing that they had caught on to that fact too, he then went on. "Good. I'm not. So! If I were to be awesomely logical, then I'd say that means there's something that is fixating this machine on you, Arthur."

England didn't answer at first, preferring to look rather skeptical at the Prussian rather than fully believe him. But he could see he had a point. He glanced at the machine briefly, warily, as if it was a trap set only for him as he spoke. "That doesn't make sense. It's as if saying Kiku had programmed it so then it would send the time-travelers to specific points in my history."

"And who's to say he didn't?"

Green met challenging red. But seeing as how the blonde wasn't going to answer, the albino laughed and went on confidently. "C'mon…you can't honestly mean to tell me that you think 'every little bump and nudge' caused some sort of glitch to make them jump forward to a different time, do you?" Prussia raised an eyebrow. "_That's_ as if saying Japan has no skill with technology. Which we all know…is pretty false."

England sighed, feeling fatigued and dizzy of a sudden again. Reaching out subconsciously for the arm of the cushioned chair next to him, he closed his eyes tightly, hiding a wince before muttering, "So…okay, _suppose_ for a moment that what you say is true. Then…how is it connected to me? And was it really…intentional of Kiku to do such a thing?"

Prussia shrugged. "I haven't figured out the first part yet – but as for your second question?" He chuckled a bit, shaking his head in a negative fashion at his old friend. "I'm the wrong person to be asking, buddy."

England nodded with a sigh – he should have seen that answer coming – but as if on cue, the machine came to life again. Tell-tale panels slide open, a static screen coming into view as they could hear Japan's voice coming in over the telecommunication device, sounding worried and concerned.

"Hello?" he called anxiously. "Anyone…anyone there? Arthur-san? Ludwig-san…?"

Motioning for Germany to go ahead and answer, since he wasn't feeling up to the task, England listened as the other blonde replied. "_Ja. _We hear you, Kiku. What's wrong?"

"How is Arthur-san doing? Is he all right?"

Germany glanced back at the Englishman, who nodded distractedly. "_Ja. _He is standing and nearby. How about you three?"

"We're doing great!" America's voice, coming in loud and clear. Confidently. "But listen, uh, something strange happened not too long ago, so we were wondering if you could help us figure out _why_, y'know, it…happened_…? _Now that we know Artie's okay and all…"

Prussia grinned, sparing a glance at the exasperated sandy-blonde man, who had finally sat down, not feeling well enough to stay on his two feet. "Kesesesese! Sure! Just full us in! What went down?"

"Well…" It was clear Alfred wasn't sure where to begin, or what exactly to say, so with baited patience the three that were gathered in the living room waited, biding their time. Finally, an answer came. "…I may be going crazy, but I think I just saw into Arthur's memories." He hurried forward before anyone could say anything. "I mean, I know we're in his past and all…but I saw all these images for a second, and felt…as if _I _were the one remembering them, but I know I wasn't…uh, does that make sense? At all?"

England frowned, hand hovering over his forehead. Although both pairs of eyes – blue and red – were upon him, curious, waiting, he found he couldn't respond to their expectant glances for a minute. For a long minute, actually. But then – finally – he closed his eyes, hand lowering to his lap as he finally spoke. "First…you time-travel into my history. That's fine, in fact, it's probably a _benefit_ for you." Green orbs opened with a flash of exasperation. "But now you're _seeing into my mind_…?"

"Yeah! I know, right? It's crazy!"

Holding back a groan, the Englishman brought back up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Although it strangely enough wasn't in conjunction with trying to come up with a response to the American, he still felt so horribly sick at the moment…

Germany turned back to the machine, answering for the island nation. "I may have...somewhat of an idea as to why this has happened."

"Really?" America's voice came in, excited. "Phew, that's good. What is it?"

"Firstly," Ludwig began, speaking very slowly and carefully so that he wouldn't be misheard – it was also with faint satisfaction that he noticed the other three's voices were coming in quite clearly. Where they within a soon enough range now to be heard like that? A good thing, indeed. "Take note that relationships between nations are not like relationships between humans. Although we have human-esque emotions, and other qualities about us, our relationships between one another often can take…a different sort."

He took a short pause – just a small one to gather some air – before continuing. "Relationships can often…connect nations. Especially when the political ties are already there, as we know the case is especially between you and Arthur, Alfred. So if we take into account the fact that you are already in the past, something that shouldn't happen, regardless – it's against the laws of nature – your connection to Arthur is what is keeping you tied to his history. All three of you…really."

Again, there was a tiny break. One in which America perked up to say, "So then I wasn't really seeing into Arthur's mind…?"

"I'm…not sure. You might have been, in all actuality. Or you might not have. There could have been a glitch with the machine. It may just be the strong connection between you two. I'm not sure." Germany shrugged. "But whatever it was, this is a sign that things may be unstable. You should hurry back."

"But…" There was a huge sigh on the other end. It was as if America were shaking his head even as he spoke in a fervent manner. "…okay, let me try and get this straight, though. Because of our 'connections' to Arthur, you mean we're going to be stopping at every little major event in British history? I…we can't…we can't _hurry up_ when things are like that_! Arthurrrrr! _Why do you have to be so _old…?_"

England sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. _"I swear, _Alfred…when you get back, I'm going to make your life _miserable_ for what you're putting _me_ through! You think _you're_ having a bad time?"

"Well, yeah, but…I mean, it's not _so _bad…you _are_ a pretty cute kid, once you get past the fact that you're still as grumpy as ever, but – "

" – Pardon? I am not '_grumpy_!'"

"You so totally _are!_ Why don't you ever smile? You used to smile a lot when you were with the Celts and all…remember them?"

Heaving out another exhausting sigh, England leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping themselves up on his knees as he kept his head hidden in his hands. How was it…somehow…miraculously, he didn't feel as sick when he was arguing with the American brat…? Although he could feel a sore headache coming on, it strangely…strangely didn't seem as bad as the usual nausea that overtook him what with his past being invaded as it was.

Exhaling once more, the Briton lifted his head just slightly to answer as best he could. "I haven't thought of the Celts in so long…but _yes, _Alfred, I remember them." How could he _forget_ them, really? His first human friends. The fairies had always been there, of course, but the Celts…the _Celts_ were special. Humans, though, in general, were special. They had an effect on a nation that other creatures – any animal, mythological or not – didn't. They could decide and shape a future, they could build, they could destroy, they could hate, and they could love.

Wondrous things there were that humans could do.

"Do ya miss them?"

What was this, 'interrogate-Britain' time? _And especially while in front of Germany and Prussia…_ Who, quite strangely, were quiet. Except for, of course, the tiny "Kesesesesese," that was being passed under the albino's lips. The United Kingdom sighed, rubbing his forehead, and preferring not to meet their curious gazes. "Yes, Alfred…I miss them. Now will you shut up? You…have a home to get back to, you know."

"Yeah…" Oddly enough, the boy sounded distracted. Airy. As if something else were on his mind even as he half-heartedly agreed with the Briton.

Germany decided to pick up where Arthur left off. "We will let you go now so you three can time-hop again. We hope to see you soon."

"_Hai_," Japan's voice, coming in calm and clear. "Hope to see you soon as well, Ludwig-san."

After a small_ click_, the screen turned black and the side panels slid back together, coming shut. Ending the conversation.

* * *

The time-travelers, however, did not like what they were seeing in this new time period that they had arrived in.

Really, to be honest, it was hard to find a time period in England's history so far where they _did_ like what they were seeing. The only notably positive points were the Celts, and well…the Celts. Apparently, there was a point in the Roman time period where things must have been pretty happy, but this…

…the 460's?

"Oh my gosh…"

_Slaughtered._

That was the first word that came to all three of their minds. Completely and utterly, brutally…murdered. Before them lay in ruins, fire and ash of what was the remains of a city, or a town. Perhaps even a village – a harmless little dwelling place of Britons – before it was turned into this…this wasteland. This graveyard.

"They killed them before they got to the altar, even…" Japan's whispered words of horror seemed to echo throughout the decaying landscape.

America and France's eyes laid upon what their Asian friend's did, and instantly sorrow ripped at their guts, churning their insides. Killed, strewn about on the steps, were bodies murdered on their way to sanctuary. Women, children, men, elderly…all dead, limbs twisted at odd angles where they had fallen, unable to get up, clothes drenched in their ill-spilled blood.

America's fists clenched. "Who _did _this…?"

France bowed his head slightly, morose. "Would you believe me, mon ami, if I told you it was the Saxons and Angles…?"

The wheat-haired blonde turned in shock to his friend, mouth opening. Oh, how he felt anger coming on him by the minute – what barbarians would _murder_ so _savagely_? Could kill without remorse, and burn down people's _lives_ – nonetheless, what must Arthur be feeling right now? He was still so small, right? He couldn't be bearing this well – why couldn't anything go _right _for the kid – and what about his mother? Those Saxons and Angles – !

But before he could utter a single word, a child's wail of utter remorse sounded up, loud and clear. Painfully recognizable; the cry of death, of mourning. Of cutting pain.

And they knew who it belonged to.

Looking to one another instantly, they said the name in unison, "Arthur," and then they were off, dashing around the rubble to find the source as quickly as they could.

He was not far off.

Covered in soot and blood, tear streaks lining his face, a small England – still as little as ever, looking only to be six years of age – clutched his limp mother to his chest, head burrowed in her vibrant, dirty, mangled red hair, mouth open in wailing.

Brought to a stop, still a safe distance away, Japan didn't even bother to take out his Blackberry this time to decipher what the child was saying. He had a well enough idea.

"She's…dead…?" America's voice came out soft, timid. Strange for someone who so earlier, had been so bent on delivering justice, veins filled with righteous anger. But now, all that was stripped away in the face of loss, in witnessing the pain of his father-figure, hunkered over one of the most important people in his life.

France shook his head. "Not yet. When nations die…they simply disappear. So no, not dead yet, but she is most assuredly…dying."

America swallowed. "…how?"

"It is a combination of factors," Japan murmured. "In our time, a nation's death is made quick and easy. We are dissolved. We do not simply…fade away and have a long, painful death. But in the past, when no such forms of politics were made, and things were not recorded as much as they are today, a nation died whenever the name was erased. So in this case, Britannia is being deRomanized. Her name…is being forgotten. And so she is dying. Her sons – Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and England – will be named soon, and will grow to adulthood. They will take her place."

France sighed, shoulders sagging. "But that does not make the parting process any easier to withstand…"

There was a silent respect and agreement to that statement as they watched for a moment more England mourn the coming loss of his mother. Smoke trailed high from the remains of the city, dark clouds of puff billowing to the sky. After a while longer, Japan finally pulled out his Blackberry.

"I suppose…we should go…?" he murmured, meeting a few nods of consent, although both pairs of blue eyes didn't leave the two.

But just as he was about to press the button and send them on their way, France suddenly grabbed the Asian's wrist, gasping. "_Non_! _Attend! …_wait...wait just a moment…"

Silence permeated the group, thick and heavy as their eyes darted back to little England and the dying Britannia. It took a moment, but indeed – whatever France saw came into view for the other two as well, the image of the tall man sifting in from smoke as he walked towards the kneeling nation. The sight of this stranger made them all catch their breaths.

"Who's that…?" America murmured curiously.

France shushed the other blonde quickly and quietly, ears craned as he listened and watched the man approach the two, kneeling down as he carefully placed a hand on the small blonde Briton's slightly-singed hair. The child jumped, head snapping up to observe this newcomer, green eyes lined with red and flashing dangerously, threateningly – although in vain, because in such a state, there was no way he could defend himself. But the stranger seemed to mean no harm.

"What are they saying…?" Once again, America whispered only to be shushed hurriedly by France.

"If you were to shut up, maybe then I could hear!" was the harsh whisper in response, although the older nation did not once look to the American as he spoke, his body still poised to listen as best he could to the quiet conversation.

But the first thing he could hear was Arthur finally, tearfully asking the question they all were wondering.

"_Who…who are you…?"_

The man smiled gently. "_Someone who has been looking for you a while…the rumors are true, yes? You are this land?"_

The boy winced, looking to the figure laboriously breathing while still lying limply in his arms. "_I…_" His voice wobbled dangerously as he spoke. "_…I will be…"_

There was a nod, and the hand on the head moved to the back of it and then to the neck, where the thumb rubbed at the patch of skin just dusted with the border of sandy-blonde hair. "_Good. But while I…while I am sorry for your loss, I will need your help, young one. I plan to fend off the Saxons and Angles. I need your support."_

Hope alit in the green eyes like a fire. The head snapped back up to the older man, curiosity lining his figure. "_You are going to fight…?"_

"_Yes." _A nod, full of confirmation and determination.

Little England's eyes narrowed, suddenly wary. Suddenly suspicious and cautious, scrutinizing the stranger through lowered eyelids. "_What is your name…?"_

"_Arthur." _The man smiled warmly. "_My name is Arthur, and it is a high pleasure to finally meet you, my country."_

* * *

**History Notes:** In 410, a letter was sent from Honorius to the Britons, basically telling them that, "Okay. You're breaking away? Go ahead. Now civilians have to carry weapons at all times. You fend for yourselves." Blah blah blah. xD But poor Britons…

Oh, and for those who don't know – the flashbacks that Alfred sees are from scenes in my companion story, _From Me to You_, which centers around Roman Empire and little England, based on the little traditions I found in my researching that the Roman Empire left behind to Britain. xD Because…I couldn't stop myself from Hetalia-sizing details. That's…why.

In reality, the Angles and Saxons truly were bloodthirsty when they were first invading Britannia. xD; They nearly wiped out everything – almost the entire old population of England. Which! Hey! Interesting information! You know the region of France called "Brittany"? It's named after the descendants of Britons who fled to that area during this giant massacre. X3 (finds that interesting)

And yes, Mother Britannia is dying. D: Because at this point in time, the name "Britannia" was no longer being used. It was being replaced with "Angle-land," which later, as we all know, would slowly shift to "England." Iggy!

I think that's all for now. X3 A lot more details to come next chapter, in which we follow the myths of Arthur, and all the excitement that comes with that (because really…even if this is one point in history that historians don't have concrete records of, it's pfffft pretty cool)!

Please stay tuned as we explore Arthur's sad, sad past. D8 Yes, things really are awful for him, aren't they? I find that startling when I'm doing my research. The early years of Britain were…brutal. xD Although enough of that – you all are dolls and I love you to death, although you should know that by now because I tell you every freakin' chapter. xD But I say that, because it's so true. (heart heart)

Stay tuned, and review, should you be so kind!


	13. A King's Legacy

**Crystal's Notes: **Oh dear goodness. I can't believe it took a month to crank out this crappy excuse for a chapter! I warn you, dear readers, though, that this particular point in our story…does not include much historical fact. At all. xD Considering we're dealing with King Arthur of legend here, I can't help but have a little fun with that, and let my imagination run wild. (heart heart) At least, somewhat. I can't stretch the truth too far.

_However_! There must have been _some _historical figure that stirred all these wondrous Arthurian tales, no? x3 Facts about where the stories of King Arthur originated (and the unnamed mysterious warrior in Roman-Britain history whom they were based on) will be included below in the historical notes, as usual. But again, I warn you – DON'T TAKE THIS CHAPTER LITERALLY. xD This is just me, Crystal, having…fun. 8D And messing around with old, classical legends to make them realistic. 83

Thank you to all of my reviewers! (heart heart) You guys are worth more than gold. X3 Honestly. I read every word, and I squirm inside and sometimes burst out laughing. You guys make my freakin' _life. _(heart heart heart) You all are my dear "Amicuses." (heart heart)

Now, I know this chapter won't satisfy all the King Arthur fans out there…because honestly, nothing of the legends was true at all. xD And this story is trying (…note the _trying_) to remain as historically accurate as possible. So! With that said, I was considering doing another spin-off story like FMtY was, and this time focus on King Arthur and England!Arthur's adventures along with Merlin and naturally, the Knights of the Round Table since I'm dying to throw them in and challenge them with dragons and stuff of that sort. xD Maybe…I'll throw in Alfred in there too...just cuz I love him.

Anyway, all these ideas are bouncing around now that I'm reading _The Once and Future King _by T.H. White_._ What do people think? X3 Yay or nay for the spin-off?

And now…I'm done rambling. xD Really. I love you guys. So freakin' much. Forgive me, and I will seriously try to get my once-a-week update thing going again.

Again, thank you, and enjoy. (heart heart)

* * *

Little England refused to leave his mother's side until she had finally faded away. It had been a long wait, perhaps an hour or two of simply sitting there, but it didn't make the heartbreak any lighter. It was with a small, sad smile, and a gentle hand upon her youngest one's cheek that Britannia finally left, leaving behind the blonde with empty arms.

And the trio had almost – almost left – by that point. But at Alfred's insisting, they followed the two, both Arthurs, as they hesitantly left the scene, the older gently leading the brokenhearted younger across the countryside until they came upon a small cave in a nearby cliff.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not surprising), the smaller one hadn't uttered a word during this short walk. Instead, he kept his head bowed, humbly, mourning still, perhaps – but not that the trio could see. Or at least, the boy didn't speak until they entered the somehow-homey-feeling cavern with a small campfire lit inside; then and only then did the words finally pass his lips. "_Why are we – ?"_

He was interrupted by a cry of joy, and instantly, a figure who he hadn't seen hiding in the shadows far deeper in the cave jumped to his feet, dashing forward to the small nation, all the while laughing. "_You are here! You are finally here, my boy!" _And before little Britannia could greet this strange stranger, he found himself enveloped in bony, old arms covered by long, gaping sleeves. Crying out in slight shock, the blonde found himself trying to instinctively worm out of the embrace, until Arthur, chuckling, said, "_You are scaring him, old man. Give him some room. He does not even know you yet."_

But despite listening to the man's advice, the older, white bearded-one (as little England could see now) didn't relent his hold on the small island nation. "_I don't care! Can't an old wizard be excited to see his country, finally?"_

Three pairs of wide eyes looked at each other as the realization finally dawned on them.

Meanwhile, the little one was only mystified. "_A…a wizard…?"_ Skepticism laced his next words as his green eyes struggled to gain a view of the old man who still held him so close. "_You are a wizard…?"  
_

Blue eyes twinkled as the magician leaned back finally, taking a good look at the small blonde. "_Aye, that I am! But so are _you_, young sir." _The strange old man grinned, tapping little England's nose, which made the boy scrunch up his face and shake his head in response. "_You have some magic in you."_

A frown crossed the island nation's face immediately, something saddening him for some reason in the back of his green eyes. "_H-how did you know?"_

"_My life is lived opposite than everyone else. Unfortunately, I drift through time backwards." _But apparently not daunted by this at all, the magician finally turned to the third member of their party, who had left their side to go stoke the fire in farther on in the cave. "_By the way, thank you, Wart, for retrieving him~! Now that we do, things will hopefully go a lot more smoothly than I previously foresaw. _And…_" _He added with great excitement, turning back to the small blonde in front of him. "…_we can now begin your training."_

"_Training?"_ the boy repeated. _"Like…fighting?" _It was clear what he was thinking; revenge on the Angles and Saxons for what they had done to his people, and to his mother. After all, Arthur _had_ mentioned earlier something about holding them off…

But the old white-bearded man thought a minute, as if teetering on the fence. "_Hmmm…perhaps. If we get that far." _He then shook his head. "_But no, what I am most concerned about is educating you in using your magic to its fullest capabilities."_

The little nation blinked, and then frowned. "_But I already know how to use it. The fairies taught me – "_

" – _oh, those meddling little buggers can't teach you anything more than the most basic of spells," _the magician replied breezily, waving his hand. "_Their magic is far more complex than ours, so it works differently. Fairies are beings _of _magic, and therefore can use it much more easily than we can, for we are not made of magic, are we, my boy?"_

Little England still frowned. "_I…suppose not…but still, I am not like you – I am not a human."_

"_No. But your body works like one, does it not? It ages, it eats, it sleeps, it dreams." _A soft wink. "_You are truly a remarkable thing. Do you ever think about that?"_

The boy shook his head somewhat meekly, but then shrugged, as if trying to get rid of whatever awkward, ashamed feeling that must have settled in his chest at that statement. "_I have not had…much time to think at all, lately."_

A sad look crossed over the man's face and suddenly, all the joy was gone; whatever youth that had possessed his movements earlier now left the old, withering man. "_Ah yes…your mother. Britannia, as we know it, is no more, is she?" _he asked tenderly, softly.

It was apparent the little one was about to ask how this man knew so much about him, even this small fact, but even as he opened his mouth, he immediately closed it, a lump forming in his constricting throat. He had refused to think about it earlier – refused to cry, for he had to grow up eventually, didn't he? – refused to let it get to him. He had held out the fact at arm's length, but now, with it shoved so close again, he couldn't…he couldn't deny…

Closing his watery green eyes tightly – as tightly as he could to keep the tears back – the boy nodded his head stiffly, every muscle tense with the strain it took on his body not to break out.

The old man came to his knees before the child, reaching forward to gently put his hands on the younger's cheeks. "_There, there, now," _he murmured soothingly, quietly. _"You are being a very brave, very strong young man, are you not? But even warriors, my boy, such as yourself are allowed tears to mourn for their loved ones every now and then. Go on."_

It was laughingly that the boy responded, even as a few shaky tears finally broke free of their barrier. "_W-who…who _are_ you…?"_

The wizened old magician grinned. _"Why, my name is Merlin," _he responded with genial glee._ "However, at the moment, I believe that is not of that much importance. So come, my boy. Instead, let us weep for what's lost as we try to find ourselves a future."_

And as the wizard lead the child away deeper into the cave where Arthur was waiting by the fire, the three outside the cave turned to each other in surprise, disbelief marring their faces although it was hard to see one another in the dim light of evening.

America was the first to speak. "Seriously? Arthur? Like, _King _Arthur? Like the one in the movies? And _Merlin_?"

Japan was at a loss for words. He shook his head numbly, almost too afraid to speak. So America continued.

"They _existed_? I totally thought those were all old myths and legends and…stuff." Apparently, he was running out of things to say, too. Flopping his arms to his sides, he let silence reign for a long moment between the three of them; no one quite sure at all what to say to this scene they had just witnessed.

France, who too, looked very shocked, finally shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "I suppose…we should have expected at least something similar to this. I don't know if you saw their clothing, but the styles have changed. Tunics are beginning to replace robes, and mail is becoming the standard armor for knights…this was the period when he was around."

"It's not as cool as in my movies," America admitted, nodding in agreement with the Frenchman. "But yeah…" Something lit his face in realization again. "…it is, isn't it?"

Everything fit.

_Enslaved for centuries, used and then abandoned by the Roman conquerors, Britain is a shattered land—with petty warlords and tribal leaders fighting over its pieces like mongrel dogs._

That was always the classic setting into which King Arthur had been thrown into. And it was true—oh, so true. They had seen with their own eyes the damage the Saxons and Angles had caused, seen the fire, the ash, the bodies, the blood.

And now they were seeing the hope that had lit the fire of the stories that live to this day.

"Despite being a nation," Japan murmured quietly. "It still makes us feel rather insignificant, small and helpless to the power of the human will…doesn't it?"

No response was given – but there was none needed. Both of the other two silently agreed with him.

After a continuing moment of silence, France finally pushed off the wall of the cave, letting his arms fall to his sides as he turned to them. "_Eh bien…_shall we see how this all turns out? Spare ourselves the long years of waiting and suspense? Cut to the chase?"

Japan busied his Blackberry, setting it up so they could time-hop again even as America shrugged. "Why not? I always hated sitting still, anyway."

With a smirk, they were off in a small flash of light.

* * *

"_They are gone, now."_

Arthur looked up to his magician companion from where he sat beside a sleeping nation close to the fire, nodding absent-mindedly. "_I was wondering when they would leave…why did you not want to talk to them? You knew they were there."_

Merlin shrugged, taking off his glasses (devices ironically, that would not be invented until years, years later; Arthur had long since known that his magician friend was the very description of anachronistic), looking at them, and then cleaning them off on his cloak. "_I believe meeting them would have caused a great disruption. They have already done enough trouble, something tells me. And whatever their business may be, it was none of ours."_

"_But they had been following us!" _Arthur insisted, slightly worried. _"What if they were Saxon or Angles spies or Jutes, even – "_

" – _patience, my boy." _In raising a single hand, Merlin was able to dispel of any of his companion's fears. "_Patience. If they were spies, then they were awfully lousy ones. But something tells me they weren't. They were just troublemakers. That is all."_

"_That hardly makes me feel any better."_

Chuckling to himself, Merlin finally slid his glasses back on, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall of the cave. "_Of course it wouldn't, my King. Years living here in a suffering, broken nation have done that to you."_

Running a hand through his hair, the royal looked to the young boy at his side, sleeping away peacefully – probably for the first time in a long, long time. "_Is this really him? Is our country…really so small?"_

"_At the moment, yes. He is." _Merlin stood and walked over to them, a gentle smile carving itself into the warm wrinkles on his face. "_But he will grow. Do not look so despaired. This is from where Angle-land is being born, as horrifying as the circumstances may be. With our help, however, he will finally begin to mature."_

Arthur continued watching the boy sleep for a moment, letting silence reign before he finally felt it appropriate to speak again—and when he did speak, it was quietly. "_You called him Angle-land…"_

"_I did."_

"_No longer…'Britannia'…?"_

"_My King," _Merlin said with a knowing tone and gentle smile. His blue eyes met Arthur's. "_I know what you are thinking, but fear not. It is not as if the Angles and Saxons have won yet. You still have a large role to play in the events to come, so it is not over. They are merely giving him a new name."_

The man sighed. "_I know, I know. You have been telling me that for years. But…" _A short pause, and then a tired, "_…but 'Angle-land?'"_

"_His brother has been named as well," _Merlin added thoughtfully, leaning back and tilting his head up to the ceiling. "_Wales, they call him, meaning, 'Land of the Foreigner.'" _

"_It sounds far better than Angle-land, at any rate. They are not named after barbarians."_

A harsh, startling silence.

Then, finally, after the long, tense silence, Merlin sighed, heaving a great breath from his lungs. Standing up from the wall, he seemed so old at that moment—wise and all-knowing—as if he really had spanned the several years through time that he claimed he did. "_The circumstances are what the circumstances are, Arthur," _he said slowly, tiredly. Carefully._ "We cannot change what has happened, but we can affect what _will _happen. Our country—this boy—is not being born and nurtured to adulthood by a greater power anymore; it has been abandoned. It is being forced to grow while being ravaged. A harsh truth, yes—far more difficult and painful than many other nations' histories, but that's what it is, and we will simply have to make do with it."_

Nodding to himself, the old magician turned his blue eyes over to the small slumbering boy, whose chest rose and fell rhythmically to the pattern of sleep. "_We will make do."_

It took a while—a long while—but finally, Arthur nodded, glancing from his best friend to the fire, and then from the fire to his nation—his country—which, for some reason, he had a suddenly strong sense of affection for. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on the boy's brow, noticing the bushy eyebrows—but then again, not seeming to care much. They added character.

After a long, length pause, Arthur finally repeated Merlin's own words with a sigh. "_Yes…we'll make do…"_

* * *

A flash of light—and then they were back. Back and eagerly anticipating what was to happen next in the year 550; so eager to see where they would be, but only to find that when they finally looked around, they were so entirely and utterly…confused, instead.

Not to mention the only other person in the old, dark bedroom was a tad confused as well.

But they realized who it was the minute he spoke in uncertain Latin, the language that was slowly growing so unfamiliar to him.

"_It is you…you three have returned…"_

America was the first to turn around and behold the other occupant of the room, sitting on his straw bed, yet not at all looking comfortable. But the boy was now a good few years older than the last time he could remember seeing him; that much was for certain, no matter how disconcerting and slightly encouraging that was.

"_Ta-da~," _Alfred decided to greet him, doing a small hop and spreading his arms out wide in enthusiasm. Upon seeing that neither Japan nor France was going to join him in his optimistic antics, he dropped them down to his sides immediately, adding with a bit more mellow, "_Yes, it is us. How have you been?"_

But despite his companions, he was able to draw the tiniest of smirks out of the 8-year-old looking England. Perhaps it was a subconscious motion, but the American couldn't help but notice when the small wince and tender ministration of rubbing his ribs after he had asked his question, though. It was a moment before the child responded, and when he did, it was hesitantly. "_I have been…better."_

France swallowed, daring to talk about it. "_The Angles and Saxons…?"_

The smirk sharply turned bitter. "_So you have heard."_

Heard what?

The three companions shared glances before the bed of straw shifted and the child refused to look at them as he went on, staring daggers at the nearby wall. "_It does not matter. They have won. So what?" _There was unexpected sadness in that statement. So it seemed even Angle-land was startled by his own emotions, and blinked his eyes rapidly as he went on._ "My brothers, converting to Christianity, are becoming literate and educated. They want nothing to do with me, the forsaken. The land overruled with barbarians. And that…"_

The boy shifted again, eyebrows furrowing with the strain it took not to focus on the pain. "_…it hurts much more than the Saxons finally winning. But that is all right. More than fine! It has been that way since…since the Romans; so it is nothing new. I am used to it."_

Lies. All lies—it wasn't that hard to see past the words those lips were spewing like a choking fountain.

_I still love them._

A quiet sniffle, and the green eyes turned to them, quick and oh-so-intent on changing the subject. "_Well, enough about me—" _

"—_Angle-land…where is your leader?"_

The young one scowled at them, the question making him immediately throw up invisible walls and borders in order to protect himself. "_My leader?" _he repeated suspiciously.

Ah…that wasn't quite the right question. America knew it, but he still had to ask it anyway. "_Your…leader. The old one. The fabled one. The one who has successfully led your people to holding off the Anglo-Saxons for…" _He paused to quickly do the math, then he paused, stunned. "…_wait, that's not right; it can't have been 80 years…"_

The scowl slowly fell away, replaced by a blank look of unspeakable sorrow. The boy turned away, his green eyes hidden beneath the fringe of messy sandy-blonde hair, his entire frame tense.

There was great sadness to be felt in the air.

"_No," _he murmured quietly. "_My…my leader, as you call him, held them off for 30 years. But he had…he had such an effect that ever since this year, there's been peace." _Arthur swallowed. _"He was…gone before then."_

America was tempted—oh, so tempted to reach out and see if he could find what memories lay in store in the Briton's mind, just like he somehow did before, but a sense of privacy for his former father-figure kept his hand at his side, immovable as he simply muttered, "_He is dead…?"_

"_Killed." _Emotions made the voice tremor. "_Fifty years ago." _The shoulders bunched even tighter. "_But I do…not wish to speak of it." _A tentative swallow, and then a hoarse whisper._ "Please."_

Loss. So much loss. Everywhere they went—one minute, it was the boy's mother, the next his mentor and best friend—his very namesake. And in the midst of the people closest to him passing away, his people continued to be wiped out until nearly nothing of the original population remained. It was enough to make anyone scream.

It was enough to make anyone weep. And weep so strongly, so pitifully, the cry was felt from the bottom of a cavernous soul.

America stepped forward slowly. "_I heard…he was great."_

A soft chuckle. The pale, slender shoulders covered by a short-sleeved off-white robe with green cloak shook slightly with the movement. "_He was the greatest man I ever knew."_

Now _that_ was interesting. Alfred let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "_Even greater than Agricola?"_

A startled gasp. The head of straw-blonde hair turned to him in a flash, green eyes curious and thick eyebrows bowed in suspicion. It was a long moment before he answered. _"Perhaps…how did you know…?"_

"_I know you better than you think I do," _replied the American gently yet smugly.

The green eyes narrowed, and then turned away. Suddenly, there was tension in the room—so much tension like a rubber band pulled taut. "_Do not…do not say that, please. No matter how much you think it's true, it isn't." _The voice was wobbling again.

America let his previous humor finally leave him. Slowly, slowly, he let his muscles relax as he simply watched the small, still-struggling nation before him, and waited, trying to gauge what was right—what was appropriate—what would best help the situation to say. He swallowed. "_Angle-land…I know what has happened to you, and I can only…imagine the pain you had to have endured…and the relief that these 50 years of peace brought…"_

It was tense a long moment with no response. None, at least, until finally the small blonde muttered. "_It was…" _The boy placed a pale hand on his face, as if to hide something he didn't want to be seen. "_…it was bittersweet…I lost…I lost my best friend…but because of his sacrifice, what remained of my people was…safe…"_

The hand fell away to be placed in a lap, but still those green eyes didn't turn to behold his three visitors. "_You never knew him, but I shall never forget him."_

France sighed softly, turning his head to the side slowly. "_You have faced…much, much sorrow as a child…" _Perhaps that was even an understatement; almost every time period they had gone to for a while had been met with war or death.

The early history of Britain was not for the faint-hearted.

"_All of our kind does." _It was a simple, correct comment. Finally, Arthur turned to them. The green eyes weren't wet, but they were most assuredly shifting with hundreds of swirling, powerful emotions—mixtures of sadness and pride, of pain and stubbornness. "_But one thing…my King told me…was that it matters not the circumstances, but how you face them."_

Alfred felt something familiar stir within him at seeing the way little England held himself while uttering those words. Yes—yes, now—now the little boy was showing some of that spitfire spirit everyone knew him for. It was strange the amount of affection that swelled in his heart at that; he couldn't help but ask the burning question. "_So how will you face the oncoming troubles, then? Your life isn't over, you do realize. It's still just beginning."_

"_I will face them with my head held high." _The answer came easy and confidently. Green eyes turned to the only window in the room, from which feeble sunlight filtered in from the cloudy rain outside. "_I have shed one too many tears, and made one too many promises that I must now start keeping. More sadness will come, but I will bear it with the same strength that my…" _A small pause, as if he stumbled over his words. "_…that my namesake had."_

France asked it now, although he knew the answer. _"Your namesake?"_

"_Yes." _England suddenly swallowed. "_My King…gave me his name. A human name. Because he disliked how impersonal a land's name sounded, he named me after him—the greatest gift I have ever received." _Green eyes flashed upon the newcomers, as if daring them to challenge him. "_And I will carry his name with the same grace and courage that he did before me, so that I may make him proud. So do not try to take it away from me. You can't."_

All three time-travelers held up their hands defensively. But it was with an amused smirk that America responded, _"Wasn't even going to try."_

Angle-land smirked back. "_Good."_

America couldn't say this was one of the better, lighter-hearted parts of their adventure. Neither could he say it was the darkest, most depressing hour. But he would remember that conversation in that bedroom just like he remembered all of the other events and conversations between him and his former father-figure up until then, because throughout all of them, he could see the little guy becoming more and more like the Arthur he knew from the present day.

And to be honest, such findings fascinated him to no end. They thrilled him, and at the same time saddened him—but intrigued him more so, because despite all the pain and suffering, Arthur was still becoming _Arthur._

And what a strange relief that was.

* * *

**History Notes: **Okay, to be honest, there's not much to put here. xD I tried to remain true to the fact that historians have no idea where the fabled "unnamed mystery man" who was able to hold off the Anglo-Saxon (and Jutes—another bunch of people who everyone forgets also invaded England/Britain) for 30 freakin' years died—and they have no idea when. They don't know his name either, to be honest, so he's really the ultimate mystery hero—the one from whom all the King Arthur Pendragon stories originate from. He was a source of hope for the hurt, scattered Britons.

Fascinating, right? 8D

Although the tales to say that he isn't dead, but merely sleeping in cave somewhere, and that when "Britain is in (his) darkest hour, King Arthur will once again rise to save (him)."

The Hetalia nerd in me? xDDDD _So _going to use that in the spin-off to refer to our lovely Arthur Kirkland. (heart heart)

Anyway! Also, the quote in there about Britain and mongrels and whatnot is actually on the back of this other book I got to read for my sudden King-Arthur-obsession called _Firelord._ I haven't started reading it yet, but it looks hilarious, considering it's from King Arthur himself's perspective. I hope it's a good read!

Anyway, enough about me! I have chores I need to do. xD You guys enjoy, you guys comment, and you guys…please please forgive me. ;.; Quoting Boxer from _Animal Farm: _"I will work harder."

Love you all, and have a great week. (heart heart) Will see you soon—I assure you!


	14. America Doesn't Like Flying

**Crystal's Notes: **I am aliiiiiiiiiiive… (does the "Thriller" dance for a second)

Wah~ I'm so glad to finally be continuing this. xD YAY FOR GETTING OFF MY LAZY BUT AND PUTTING ASIDE SOME FREE TIME TO WRITE. YAY.

So for my lovely six reviewers of my last chapter…I heart you all.

And for ThE-faInTinG-faNGirl…this chapter, and its scenes, are dedicated to you, because without your kind words and encouragement, I think I rather would have given up on this. xD Thank you. I owe you so much. (heart heart)

And now, after almost 4 months of waiting, without further ado. xD Chapter 14. Ladies and gentlemen.

* * *

Angle-land, having a particular and distinct current dislike for the Angles and Saxons (forget what his nation-name was during this era), had decided to live in the Kingdom of Kent with the Jutes—another outside tribe that had invaded with the Angles and Saxons, but not as notably as the others did—during the last few years of the 6th century. They had a tiny portion of his land—just the foot—and a tiny island on the south side—yet also they were considered the center point of all the divided kingdoms of his land; they were also considerably more lenient than their Saxon neighbors, making them much easier to live with than those murderers.

But that didn't necessarily mean he was social with the Jutes and their king, King Ethelbert, who he lived with and who knew what he was. Not even the man's kind wife, Queen Bertha, could get much more out of him than civil, small talk.

So today, it wasn't unusual for Angle-land to go to the nearby river in the forest alone to wash himself (although he sorely missed those bath-houses the Romans used to have…he reminded himself he would have to make do with what he did have—rivers and all).

The thing that _was_ unusual, however…was when the 8-year-old looking boy pulled off his white robe while midcalf-deep within the river, and found a white feathertucked somehow within the folds of the old linen.

He frowned, reaching for the white delicacy. It seemed so foreign; so small and uncertain of itself in the unfamiliar surroundings. That is, if it had a personality.

And for some reason as he fiddled with it in between his fingers, Arthur liked to think that it did.

Then, he shrugged, throwing the feather into the wind.

_Must have been from one of the fairies…_

Of course he couldn't see the two little scars growing on the shoulder blades of his back, where other little, messy white feathers still clung to skin as if they were still connected.

He wouldn't notice them until next morning, when, gasping from a recent dream about this stranger named Pope Gregory the Great seeing Angle children being sold as slaves in Rome and hearing what they were ('Angles') and renaming them '_angelis_,' or 'angels,' he saw that he just so happened to have two small, extra appendages just beginning to peek out from his back.

Talk about a problem.

For the first few days, while not quite sure what to do with his baby wings, he tried to hide them. Stuff them under his white robe and dark green cloak. Tried to walk as normally as possible—but people in the kingdom still noticed. He had a lump in his back that was kind of hard to ignore.

The Queen began to get concerned at his more-shy-and-unsociable-than-normal behavior.

But after about a week, with his wings just becoming full grown, Arthur couldn't help but fancy the idea that maybe…maybe he could try to test them out. See if they worked.

He tried to fly in his little room in the tower—but that wouldn't work. There wasn't nearly enough room for his wingspan and for all the flapping. His items, papers, belongings and bedsheets flew everywhere the moment his new feathery appendages took a great heave.

So, little Angle-land was resorted to the only other place he could try them out without anyone spying.

The coastline.

* * *

But…to say it simply, things didn't turn out the way they were supposed to in Angle-land's head.

For one, he hadn't meant to fall off the edge of the cliff he had been looking out over while idly watching the waves collide with the rocky wall. Really. It had all been that strange Amicus' fault—him and his two lackeys, one of which who _still_ looked like an older Gaul so much it stirred an instinctive hatred of him.

But old sentiments aside.

He really, truly hadn't meant to fall off. It was just that the sudden appearance of the three behind him, the tallest, Amicus, calling out worriedly in that ancient Latin language he had almost forgotten, _"Angle-land, don't – !" _had honestly startled him. Startled him so much that he whipped around and lost footing on the cliff.

And slipped.

And fell.

And nearly had a heart-attack.

Not that he was the only one suffering from such a thing. As soon as he disappeared from over the cliff's edge, France, America and Japan ran quickly to the side, peering over and into the channel's depths.

Unfortunately, their little England was nowhere to be found.

"_Où est-il? Où est-il?_" France asked desperately, out of fear—first towards the deep blue water (as if it could somehow give him a response), and then towards America, grabbing his shoulders tightly (as if America had an equally likely chance of giving him the answer he was looking for).

For a moment more, the peril, fear and despair plagued the atmosphere as America uncertainly, numbly, shook his head in response. He wasn't quite sure what to think or what to say. After all, he had a glimmer of hope—he could've sworn those were two giant wings that he had seen on Iggy's back… But the likelihood that it was just a trick of the mind? Very likely.

But yet somehow, he didn't think—

—it was a gleeful, excited laugh that put to rest any doubts.

In slow shock, the trio froze, and then watched with shock as a small figure—distant at first, and then zooming closer, flew by them and then up, up, into the blue sky high above, spinning.

Angle-land, on the other hand, could hardly believe it. His wings actually _did _work! Expanding to their full length, England could feel the snap in his bones courtesy of the air current, as it was suddenly caught underneath the new appendages, and lured him out of danger.

He opened his eyes with a huge wide gasp, watching mesmerized as he could feel himself continuously lifted into the air. Instinctively, somehow, he knew what to do in response to this. Spreading his wings out as far as they could go—every feather expanded as if he were reaching for the clouds to his left and right—he could feel himself finally level out and become parallel with the ground—and felt another laugh tumble out of him, free and unrestrained.

Rare, as well.

It baffled the three left behind on the cliff-side, to say the least. England was flying.

_Flying._

With _wings._

"He's like a freakin' _bird_!" America couldn't help but shout in surprise, tilting his head back and shading his eyes with his hand.

Japan and France were as startled as well, staring up with wide eyes.

But they both were thinking the same thing—something along the startling lines of realizing that Britannia Angel was indeed, real. _And_ flying right before their eyes. As unbelievable as that, in itself, was.

England was _flying._

"Well I'll be…" France could only murmur as they watched him soar about. He flew to the right, to the left, and clearly—clearly—perhaps this was the most unusual thing—so gleefully excited about this new ability of his. Not that they could blame the young country; if they had grown freakin' wings over time, they would be happy about flying, too…

…which, brought up an interesting question.

America turned to the other two expectantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hey…why _does_ Iggy have wings?"

Both shrugged, although France seemed the more agitated one, firing back, "How do you expect _us _to know, hm? Despite what you may think, I didn't and don't watch _Angleterre _every second of every day. In fact, I can't even remember him ever having wings; not that I saw while growing up…"

"Huh…" Deciding not to comment on the 'watching England every second of every day,' America frowns softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then…" But when the young adult turned back around, he jumped in surprise when he saw Angle-land there, hovering just off the cliff edge and on thin air, looking at him with unrestrainedly curious eyes and his hands folded behind his back.

There was a startled pause for a moment—one in which green and blue simply stared at one another.

Then, America couldn't help but smile softly.

"Everything I thought wasn't true about you is being proven right before my eyes, isn't it?"

It was a random comment, perhaps. And Britannia Angel—or at least, Arthur—didn't even seem to understand it, but that all was fine by America. At the moment, he didn't even really care.

A guy could spontaneously reminisce, couldn't he?

First it was the magic, now it's his angel form—what next, would the fairies soon prove to be real?

…he kinda hoped not, considering that would just be odd and awkward because that meant he had been insulting them to their face without ever quite realizing it…

But for the sake of changing the subject…America actually found that challenge thankfully (or actually, in reality, unfortunately for him) taken out of his hands. While he had been thinking, Angle-land had inched closer and closer, hands reaching towards his own.

Which, in and of itself, was a sort of a surprise. The wheat-blonde found himself chuckling, and chose not to resist against the young one who, once he had hold of either wrist began leading him gently forward, closer and closer to the cliff's edge—but not that he was completely aware of it. "W-what are you up to, Arthur? You don't usually do this, I hope you know—"

—although that smirk the other wore at that moment was _definitely _a mischievous one that he had seen before.

The smile from his own face drained away as he began to get nervous, especially in response to _that_ look. "…seriously, Arthur, what are you doing—?"

The next thing America could remember doing was screaming as he felt his feet leave the rocky edge and his entire body and weight become suspended in air. For a few minutes, it was a pure free-fall—and that was the most terrifying thing, pulling the screams continuously from his chest as if it was a magician unveiling a rabbit. But then—miraculously—Angle-land regained whatever air beneath his wings he needed, and in two almighty heaves of his white appendages, they had gained altitude.

America's scream was lost to him—as well as the cries of surprise of his other two companions—as they shot upward, the wind zooming past their faces. The blonde squinted his eyes shut, not able to keep them open; he could feel his hair whip around his face at an almost painful, reckless speed that he was half-certain would have gouged his eyes out if he wasn't keeping them so fiercely closed.

Then, they leveled out. He could feel it in the same motion as Arthur straightened his wings and simply let them glide. The younger one's arms had switched from his wrists to around his chest and just under his arms, his chin resting on top of Alfred's head.

It was during that short moment of calm that America's mind finally caught up with him, and he let his eyes hesitantly open.

His breath hitched in his throat, and before he could think in awe how majestically _beautiful_ everything looked from this point—_so this is what flying and freedom truly feels like from a bird's point of view_—Alfred did the only perfectly natural thing anyone in his position (which was practically being kidnapped by a winged nation) would do.

He began to panic. Again.

"Ohcrapohcrapohcrap—Arthur, what the heck are you _doing_? I'm gonna fall, goshdangit—!" His arms tried to twist themselves as he reached for a better way to grip his only safety from falling to a painful death (because you _could _die by hitting water at such a high speed, he reminded himself). "_Arthurrrrr! Let me down! You are going to kill meeeee!" _he tried again in Latin.

But for some reason—and this freaked out the poor American again, although he couldn't decide if it was because of what he had said or not—Angle-land faltered just slightly in his flying, scaring the crap out of everyone present—flyers and spectators alike.

"They're dead." France said it quite plainly, bluntly, not able to keep still as he paced back and forth, sometimes side to side on the edge of the cliff, hands not being able to decide whether they wanted to stay by his head or remain at his sides. Sometimes, they figured being crossed over the chest was the better idea, but whatever. The position didn't last for long. "They're dead. Any minute now, they will both fall, and we will both have to witness a serious detriment to English heritage—the _idiots_!"

Japan couldn't bring himself to say anything. He watched numbly as the two continued to fly around, Alfred still freaking out for the longest time, curling his knees up towards his chest as if there was an alligator right under him, jaws snapping vainly at air to try and get to him.

But finally, Angle-land spoke back, in what seemed to be very broken Latin, his breath most obviously strained. "_I…sorry. I have not…not spoken this language…in a while…"_

The screaming stopped, replaced with a growing sense of ease and curiosity. They still hadn't fallen yet, after all. Maybe he wouldn't die…? America let his legs expand to the point that they were simply dangling while he asked hesitantly, "_What do you mean? Do your people not speak Latin anymore?"_

"_My people…_" Arthur's face winced. Clearly that was not the first thing he wanted to say. "_…I mean, the Angles and Saxons…and the Jutes…they speak their own language. They do not know…the tongue of the Romans anymore. I, myself, am beginning to forget it. So, I apologize if I…do not sound…completely correct…while talking to you."_

America shook his head, which felt weird with the younger one's chin on top of him. "_No, you sound fine…" _

And for a moment, after that, all was peaceful (partly because after that, America forgot his panic). The sun was just beginning to set on that day, inching back towards the horizon—and suddenly, once more, America found he was getting tired. When was the last time he had slept? It had been a while, right? They had been time-hopping without stopping for what seemed like so long…

…the last time he could remember lying down for blissful rest was with Queen Boudicca and her army. That had been five chapters ago (I'm such an awful author)!

But I digress. America found himself, after yawning once, taking in the view. It was _gorgeous. _The sunset off of England's coast—the reds, yellow and purples that dusted the sky and countryside, turning it all into a glowing amber hue. It was glorious, wonderful…and lullabying. Before Alfred could stop himself, he started yawning again. He couldn't help it, but he also couldn't help himself from asking, "_But how about you? You have been carrying my dead weight around for a while. Are you getting tired?"_

There was a pant, and then an amused and exhausted, "_I apologize…but yes. You…are way heavier than you seem."_

"_Yeah, I get that a lot…"_

Angle-land smirked, waiting. Somehow, as if they had been playing this sort of game their entire lives, he knew just what the older one was going to spout next within the following minute.

And sure enough. A spluttered, defiant, "W-what?" soon sounded from the dangling youth. His transport merely laughed.

Which…made America decide he could probably let that comment slide in favor of enjoying the silence and the ambiance. Just this once.

* * *

"_So, how did those wings come to be?"_

The question was asked late at night, as Angle-land and his three guests lay on the floor of his tower-room (the same one America, Japan and France and transported themselves to unknowingly earlier), blankets spread among them (a very old version of a sleep-over, some people might go so far as to call it). The young blonde thought for a minute, frowning at the small lamp lit in the center of their circle as he tried to translate his thoughts.

"_I am not…sure. But I think…I owe it to a man named….Gregory."_

America blinked. "_Gregory? Who is that?"_

"_He is a pope in Rome. He is a great man...but I cannot be certain, at least. All I know I know from dreams. He has commented…on how my people remind him of angels…since their names…closely resemble the word."_

"_The 'Angles?'"_

"_Yes."_

This was a new piece of information. America scratched his chin as he considered it—considered the fact that just an idea, or a perception, could change something about the country's entity. And then came Japan's words ringing through his mind—something about the power of the human will over a country.

But then, the growing England crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing his quests as he said, "_But now…it is…my turn to demand…a question."_

America was pretty sure the gentler term was 'ask,' but he decided to let the poor translation slip by, considering it was the first one he had heard. Arthur then took the three's silence to mean that they would allow him to ask it.

So he did.

"_Will you stay with me a while? For…tomorrow, at least?"_

Japan, secretly looking at the conversation on his blackberry that he hid in his lap, glanced up at that question, looking at France with slight alarm. But France did not seem deterred. "It is only one day," he mouthed to the black-haired country. "We have idled for longer than that with no damage done."

"That is not the point, Francis-san," Japan mouthed back. "The longer we stay in contact with _him _the more we affect him and England's future—"

"—_sure!_" came Alfred's enthusiastic response, apparently decided without counsel from his other two (older, wiser) friends. He grinned broadly as he added, "_Why not? Is something happening tomorrow?"_

Apparently delighted, as his green eyes shone a bit brighter at the question, Arthur replied, "_Yes, actually. I am to be meeting with strange wizards tomorrow. They just arrived on our soil early this morning, and when they came, they were bearing strange symbols and items. King Ethelbert, my king of the Jutes, had thought of them as magicians—so tomorrow he wants me to test them to see who and what they really are."_

Magicians! Wizards! America shared an excited glance that was not returned by his two comrades. Not one to be faltered, he said to them, "Come on, guys. It'll be fun! We'll see Iggy do magic and stuff!"

"Fun for _you_," France pointed out. "But Kiku brought up a good point. We have to be careful not to do anything stupid tomorrow that would change anything."

Oh yeah. There _was_ that, wasn't there? Besides the fact that they themselves had a history of doing stupid things. America shook his head. "Nah. This is probably one of those non-important parts of history. I mean, have you ever heard of King Ethelbert before? Or these…people who he thought were wizards?"

"Someone no doubt has, Alfred," Japan murmured. "We have to be careful."

America nodded, shrugging it off and turning back around to confer with his young friend more. "I will," he muttered with a brief wave at the two others. "Don't worry so much."

France waited a moment, staring at the younger one's back, before he turned to Japan again. "I think—"

"—I know." Japan sighed. He looked at his blackberry, scrolling through all of their recorded conversations in Latin with England. "I know what you are thinking, and I've already talked with the others about it. Yao is working on it. It should be done soon."

France cast a quick glance at the enthusiastic America and the calm, complacent Angle-land he was chatting with. "Alfred won't like it."

"But he'll understand. It has to be done. If it isn't…_his _entire history will change, too."

France nodded. "Yao better hurry up then, too. I'd like to have it done before another…important date. Else, I'm afraid my history will change as well."

"I understand."

* * *

**History Notes: **Not much to say. xD Pope Gregory the Great's story is pretty much true. But more about him and his influence on English heritage will be explained next chapter, because he's still around. Indirectly. Because he remains in Rome while all this happens…but he's the _reason _everything happens.

So yay for Pope Gregory! (heart)

Oh, and the reason Angle-land is with the Jutes in Kent is because…historically, it's important to be there right now. 8D Yeah. Details you'll understand next chapter.

Have a wonderful Christmas, everyone who is still reading this! God bless you all!


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